


By Myself But Not Alone

by Dont_call_me_Carrie



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Thor (Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Butterfly Effect, Canon-Typical Violence, Choose Your Own Adventure, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Gen, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Non-Linear Narrative, Not Really Character Death, Tags May Change, Time Travel Fix-It, Unreliable Narrator, Warnings May Change, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23872435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dont_call_me_Carrie/pseuds/Dont_call_me_Carrie
Summary: Time travel sounds all well and good, sounds like a nice convenient way to fix everything that went wrong that resulted in the Bad Ending, only...Turns out changing things is harder than it looks.[in which the butterfly effect is both their greatest ally and worst enemy]
Relationships: Clint Barton & Phil Coulson & Natasha Romanov, Nick Fury & Avengers Team, Nick Fury & Maria Hill, Phil Coulson & Avengers Team, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Tony Stark & Avengers Team, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 35
Kudos: 220





	By Myself But Not Alone

**Author's Note:**

> [This fic is meant to be viewed with the creator's style on but it should work on mobile and should still be readable if you turn it off, at risk of spoilers.
> 
> Apologies for the mess, I'm very new at code and flew on the seat of my pants for the vast majority of writing this. Thanks, [tutorial](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/A_Guide_to_Coding_and_Fanworks/works/11514573#one)! I literally could not have done it without you!!!]
> 
> The basic premise of this fic: time travel sounds interesting. Mass time travel? Even more chaotic. Mass time travel, spread out across time and space? Buckle up everyone, we're taking this show on the road because this went from a fun little fic idea to six AUs in a trench coat, complete with alternate histories and venturing into what little I know of comics on the way.
> 
> **Warnings:** not all the tags are applicable for all of the possible pathways. While there are several overarching elements present in each of the possible options— e.g. canon-typical violence, unreliable narrators [becuase everyone's got their own priorities of what they do and don't notice], profanity [of the 'fuck my life' and 'what the hell' variety] and the butterfly effect are going to be present in each permutation— not everything listed above is applicable to what you might see.
> 
> If you're worried about the implied suicide [ _and the related tags_ ], when you reach the applicable timeline there's the warning for when the time comes, as well as the option to skip/go back to the beginning.
> 
> Also:
> 
> **Apologies for how rough it is, as this fic is not complete.** None of the possible endings have been completely fleshed out, and some notes have been put in as placeholders until I get around to doing so. 
> 
> Hope you enjoy anyway!

#### 1941:

James “Bucky” Barnes woke up. This in and of itself shouldn’t have been unusual— except his last memory was of choking on his own blood in Steve’s arms, with the bitter knowledge that they’d failed in protecting the others, so.

Just waking up was a surprise.

Waking up alone in a snowdrift wearing a uniform straight out of a history book, however, felt like nothing less than a horribly cruel joke.

It would’ve felt like an illusion, like one of his worst nightmares, except his left shoulder was in **_agony_** and if it weren’t for his HYDRA-honed pain tolerance, he might’ve just passed out again.

This— this couldn’t be real, could it?

Someone else, _anyone_ else, might have been delighted, at the prospect of another chance. Of being able to fix everything, of being able to prevent the devastation that was yet to come. Bucky, however, couldn’t help but feel horror at the prospect of enduring it _all over again—_ of being found by HYDRA and being forced to do their bidding for the better part of a century, of…

He shuddered. Then, in the distance, he heard footsteps, and…no.

If it’s what he thought it was, not again.

**_Never again._ **

He had less than five minutes to come up with a plan of action, but…Wakanda was always a good choice, this time of year, wasn’t it? Even if they were mistrustful of outsiders, there was _something_ he could do, just knowing some of the language and their customs. It’d be a better bet than risking the timeline, since he didn’t know much about time travel beyond some of Sam's favorite movies but he didn't want to prevent Tony or Sam or Shuri or any of the others from being born…eh. Whatever. He'd figure it out somehow along the way.

Bucky got to his feet, and started walking.

Maybe, in another life, HYDRA might have found an unconscious soldier lying in a snowbank. In this timeline, however, he was long gone by the time their patrol found where he’d landed.

Screw it, if Steve could take a seventy-year-long-nap, then so could he.

He sighed. Wakanda it was, then. Hopefully this time things'd end well.

Bucky was too damn tired for this shit.

He'd somehow, woken up just in time to nearly relive one of the worst periods of his life and long before anyone else he knew was even _born,_ he just...couldn't. He was tapped out for now, had reached his limit for how much he could deal with.

[ _He'd **died** trying to save the world, wasn't that enough?_]

As he made his way to Steve's crash site, part of him felt bad for not doing more for the timeline, but...what was he supposed to do? Just by leaving the Alps he'd already removed one of HYDRA's greatest assets from the equation, he was too tired to deal with anything else at this point. It's not like he owed the universe anything, anyway.

Unfortunately, the next shift in the timeline was not up to him.

Bucky spent every step since the train trying to remember the dates of every single major historical event he could think of, and swearing under his breath.

He stole medical supplies to bandage his mangled left shoulder from the first village he saw, stole a notebook and a pen several dozen kilometers after that, and just generally used every shred of skill he had to evade every single patrol he saw because the _last_ thing he needed was any rumors of James Buchanan Barnes surviving an impossible fall, especially since the full extent of what the supersoldier serum was capable of wasn't known yet.

Wait, had Steve even gone on that mission yet? Ugh. This entire mess was a headache, and he hadn't even left the damn continent.

It took Bucky quite a bit of fast talking to avoid getting stabbed by the Jabari tribesmen who spotted him.

Fortunately, the fact that he knew and was respectful of the customs of Wakanda gave him a modicum of leeway. Not much, but enough that he managed to get them to hear him out.

By the time King Azzuri showed up, he mostly had a grasp on how he was going to approach this mess, though it helped that ~~King~~ _Prince_ T'Chaka was currently several months old, lending credence to his story no matter how ridiculous it sounded. Post-apocalyptic time travel bullshit and all.

Well, here's to hoping things would end differently.

Later, there would be much headscratching and brainstorming.

Later, there would be much frustration, as people ran into metaphorical [ _and, in one notable case, not-so-metaphorical_ ] brick walls, trying to pinpoint the exact moment where and how the timeline diverged from their own past.

A butterfly's flutter, a single, soundless cough— and for that, a child, a future, a _reality_ was lost.

#### 1980:

Edwin Jarvis had not been having a good week, and that had been _before_ he discovered he'd eaten something his stomach disagreed with.

Howard was his friend, but the news of the results of the latest Arctic expedition had seen him in a particularly foul mood, and...Edwin wasn't certain he would be able to weather the storm if he were at anything less than one hundred percent.

Honestly, with the way Howard had been acting recently? He wasn't certain if he'd have been able to handle him even then. How Maria managed it once Howard was on his first brandy, Edwin didn't know and wasn't particularly interested in finding out. Not when he'd taken to escorting young Anthony to his room shortly after dinner, because no child deserved seeing their parents fight. Especially not like this. 

Then his head throbbed in time with a spike of nausea and that was it, he was calling in sick.

He shook his head. It was nothing he couldn't deal with.

#### 1980:

In another life, maybe Tony wouldn't have been around when Howard lost his temper.

Because Maria was able to handle it, normally; was able to fight fire with fire, snap back whenever he spewed vitriol, meet his venom with a smile like bared teeth and normally, that was enough.

Normally, Maria was able to handle it, able to handle the way her husband seemed intent on crawling into a bottle when he whenever he wasn't on another expedition, able weather the storm without so much as a hair out of place despite having been in a screaming match not five minutes beforehand.

Normally.

But one evening, things came to a head.

Because one evening, Howard started in on one of his fights, red-faced and on his third brandy, and either didn't know or didn't care that his son was in the room when he threw his glass— and that?

That's where Maria drew the line.

Here's the thing: Howard Stark was very rich, and very powerful. He was one of the most influential people in the country, and if they ever were to file for divorce? It was no question who'd be the one getting custody of their son in a fair fight.

Here's the thing: Maria Stark was not 'just' a pretty face. Was not some pretty little thing who knew when to keep her head down, was not some demure young woman who didn't know what she was getting into when she married one of the most prominent warmongers in America.

Because despite what the media assumed, it takes a special sort of woman to marry one of the most prominent warmongers in America. Takes a spine of steel and nerves to match and, unfortunately for Howard, Maria only ever played for keeps.

Especially when on a time crunch, because she trusted her soon-to-be-ex about as far as she could throw him and after that last fight, she _knew_ the clock was ticking.

Maybe, in another life, she might've been able to pull her punches, might have been able to burn his empire to the ground with her bare hands. But here, she had less than a month to get her son and herself out from under Howard Stark's thumb.

Less than a month of nodding and smiling sweetly, of seeing her son flinch when her husband raised his voice, of using every shred of leverage she had to gather every single rumor she'd ever heard, every dark secret she'd ever had to hide because Howard had always left the PR side of things to her— and forwarded it to the appropriate offices the same day she walked out of the Stark mansion with her son, a suitcase, and two plane tickets.

HYDRA burned, SI was put under more scrutiny than ever before, and it would take months for Howard to realize his heir had never arrived to the boarding school he'd had him shipped off to.

By then, any trail's long since gone cold.

And just like that, Tony Stark was lost to the world.

#### 1991:

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

In a different universe, Howard and Maria Stark would die at the hands of the Winter Soldier— though the truth would not come to light until decades later.

In this world, however, Howard Stark's alcohol problem culminated in vehicular manslaughter, instead. As well as the public relations disaster of the decade, when lab results came back with proof his BAC was far above the legal limit the night of the car accident that killed one of the biggest names in philanthropy on impact and landed him in the emergency room.

It didn't help that the man responsible for her death walked out of the hospital with only a stony expression and a limp, and that his lawyers were able to get the charges down from the aggravated vehicular homicide the district attorney had been pushing for was only adding insult to injury.

But then again, he was _Howard Stark,_ one of the richest and most influential people in the country. Of course he was able to walk away almost scot-free.

His son would never forgive him for it.

When Tony turned 18, he took the inheritance his mother left him and walked away.

When Tony turned 18, he looked his father square in the eyes as he announced his takeover of the philanthropic side of Stark Industries.

The Winter Soldier was a cryptid in the intelligence community: a masked man with a silver arm who flitted in and out of shadows on a whim, who appeared to sabotage some projects while assisting in others without exchanging so much as a word with anyone. There were alleged sightings on nearly every continent, but even the best cameras on the market didn't capture so much as a blur regardless of where he appeared.

It might have been a cause for concern, in another timeline.

In this world, however, everyone had other priorities than coddling junior agents who saw danger in every shadow. For instance, the notorious blood feud between SHIELD and HYDRA, which continued to attract media coverage with every altercation they had. Or some maniacs running around in yellow beekeeper suits, or the Red Room, or the emergence of other groups who continued to make reality that much more fantastical with every day that passed.

Besides— those were _obviously_ just rumors, if not even the most sophisticated technology was capable of capturing any hard evidence. And that these sightings were few and far between and were purportedly the same man, even over the span of multiple decades? Clearly just an urban legend, the product of an overactive imagination and not getting enough sleep.

Bucky was a very, very busy man as he ran around trying to fix everything the Fist of HYDRA had broken in the last timeline. He didn't doubt the Wakandans were looking at his antics with bemusement, especially because of the arbitrary dates he wanted to be up and around for, but...it wasn't like he do anything about it. Averting an assassination here, _un-_ sabotaging a project there...

Sometimes it worked, sometimes it didn't: he had a bone to pick with that one telekinetic asshole in 1963 [ _stupidly shiny helmet that distracted him from the goddamn sniper, **screw you too Oswald**_ ], and he resolutely did not want to think of how much shit Sam would give him for winding up in multiple conspiracy theories— but for the most part? It was worth it.

He wasn't even in the mid-70's when he realized he didn't entirely recognize some of the names being thrown around, and even though his first encounter with a mutant had been an unmitigated disaster it'd also shown him just how different this world was from the one he knew. On the one hand, that was good— it meant his stupid plan was working.

It _also_ meant that each time he left his cryo chamber, he recognized the world less and less. Not in Wakanda, of course; King Azzuri himself had been adamant on not hearing about his country's future for fear of risking its prosperity, and thus far his country's isolationism was working in their favor.

But abroad...Bucky breathed a sigh of relief when he saw the headlines proclaiming the birth of Howard Stark's son, though he had a brief flare of panic when he tried to recall if Tony had been born in 1970 or 1974 in the world he remembered. Well, either way it didn't matter now; at least he was _born,_ and hopefully Bucky hadn't accidentally fucked anything else up along the way.

Bucky reached 1993 before he realized he'd _still_ managed to drop the ball. Great.

#### 1992:

Tony Stark was eighteen when he took his inheritance, and walked away from everything Howard had to offer.

[ _He wasn't his father, anymore; Tony refused to recognize him as such since the night he wrapped his car around a tree and **killed his mom.**_ ]

It was with no small amount of relish that he announced to all and sundry that he was creating his own company, Stark Solutions. Not affiliated with Stark Industries in the slightest, just a green energy and technology-centered enterprise.

By all rights, it shouldn't have taken off. It should have failed like any other startup being manned by one guy working out of his tiny apartment: but all the management classes he'd been pressured into taking, all the bureaucratic minutiae he'd picked up— it all paid off now, as Tony rolled up his sleeves and set to work.

The last time Howard had seen him, he'd sneered and said good riddance, said he'd fail.

Tony wondered what face he must've made, when Stark Solutions made the headlines three years later for its exponential growth.

Or when he came out as bisexual in 1997 during New York's Fashion Week, and Stark Solutions became one of the biggest supporters of LGBTQ causes in the country, or...well. The list went on.

Not that he actually cared; he had better things to do with his life. Though if he sometimes felt a slight surge of petty, vindictive _glee_ every time another cellphone model was released, or another patent filed, or yet another report on carbon emission reduction was published? Well...Tony was self-aware enough to know he wasn't a good person, not really. Not when he did his best to make the world a better place out of _sheer spite,_ rather than any feeling of true goodwill for the future of mankind. Picturing the look on Howard's face did more for his mood than the actual nomination for the Nobel Peace Prize— well, actually, no, that wasn't a good example, considering how much of it was grounded in the irony of the situation.

[ _The estranged only son of one of the men who was part of the Manhattan Project, nominated for the Nobel Peace Prize— yeah, the press had a field day with that one._ ]

_...and_ then some guy showed up wanting him to consult on some project, and refused to take no for an answer. Even though said project was more Howard's speed than his, even though Tony had specifically said he wasn't in the business and _refused_ to follow in his father's footsteps.

In the ensuing kerfuffle, Tony may or may not have broken a few laws of thermodynamics in his haste to escape his kidnappers.

As well as invented a kick-ass new suit, and on his way out of breaking out of the AIM compound he came across a few _very interesting_ details that piqued his interest. Specifically, that one guy who'd shown up with a bodyguard detail bristling with Stark guns.

Because even years out of the game, Tony knew his guns: kind of hard not to, considering how many he'd designed by the time he'd gotten his driver's license.

How they'd managed to get their hands on them was the question.

One thing led to another, and next thing Tony knew, he was announcing his new 'bodyguard' to the press because JARVIS had found evidence this Killian creep hadn't been working alone and anyone connected enough to access that kind of firepower was going to require... _special_ handling. Especially if they had connections anything like the ones Howard had, being golf buddies with generals and Tony might've had a weird childhood but he distinctly remembered seeing g-men around the mansion, and the more he thought about it the more certain he was that something was very, very wrong and last thing he needed was to paint a target on the back of anyone he knew.

One way or another, Tony would get to the bottom of it. Someway, somehow, it was going to happen.

He'd make sure justice was served [ _for once_ ].

Or, well.

_Iron Man_ would, anyway.

When he got an offer to consult for SHIELD, Tony turned it down flat.

In another life, Tony Stark would have been Stark Industries' sole heir after a... _tragic car accident_ killed his parents.

Would have taken the world by storm at 21 when he stepped up as CEO, and from then on pushed his company to greater and greater heights, established himself as a tremendously powerful mover and shaker.

But not in this life.

Because in this life, Stark Industries became the battleground for a cold war as father and son fought for control of the company.

Tony Stark couldn't afford to slip up. Not here, not now; not when lives were on the line, because he might've been young but his mom had taught him well and he knew something was very, very wrong.

Under any other circumstances, he would've left when he was 18 without looking back, but.

If he left, Obadiah Stane would be the one to get the company if Howard croaked [ _which, granted, seemed like an impossible notion; that old bastard was as spry as ever, to where Tony was starting to suspect blood magic or something was involved because it was just **not natural**_ ], and that was something Tony could not stand for.

No offense to Obie— or, well.

Correction: no offense to the Obie he'd grown up with, because as it turns out, now that he's older? Obie was turning out to be one hell of a disappointment.

For as long as he'd known him, Obie had been the closest thing he'd had to an uncle. [ _Jarvis didn't count, he was a category of his own._ ] Tony knew why, of course— Howard's right-hand man in everything business-related would want to make nice with his only heir. On paper, Tony was supposed to be a chip off the old block, especially with his brains.

On paper, Tony was supposed to get the company and take it to a new level.

In reality, he couldn't stand to be in the same room as his father for more than five minutes, and Howard routinely threatened to disinherit him every time he so much as put a toe out of line.

Funnily enough, it's not the drinking or the partying that has Howard calling him up in a rage— it's the photos of his one-night stand. Which, okay, isn't exactly a surprise, Howard had never been exactly quiet about what he thought of 'those freaks'.

The shouting match that'd followed the discovery that his only son was not straight after all, however, was still definitely one for the books. Tony was used to being threatened with being cut off— which, again, Tony wouldn't have cared about, he wasn't in it for the money— but in that fight, Howard let slip just stood to benefit from it and in the span of five minutes, Tony realized what he had to do.

So, instead he was stuck playing the most convoluted game of chess he'd ever had, with departments and projects and board members as the battleground.

It wasn't a fun game. More of a long con, actually, and Tony wasn't proud of the person he was becoming as he fought Howard and Obie's attempts to keep him under control, as if he was some child who they could manipulate into doing their bidding simply because they asked. [ _He **wasn't.** He'd never been._]

For every dig they made at him, Tony responded in kind. Influence was lost and gained by inches, he could count on one hand how many people he could trust, and if the stakes weren't so high he might have left— but Stark Industries was a titan and he needed to be at the helm if he wanted to make any changes, so. Sacrifices needed to be made.

'The Merchant of Death', some were starting to call him.

Well.

It was an improvement from 'Howard Stark's son', at least.

And in the meantime, another butterfly fluttered its wings.

Director Maria Hill came to with a choked gasp and a sensation of _falling_ and _**drowning—**_

standing in one of the familiar corridors that made up SHIELD's headquarters. The same one that’d burned to the ground during the HYDRA fiasco, and it wasn’t even the most bizarre thing out of this scenario because it looked like it hadn’t been remodeled since her Operations Management days, and she was talking to a dead man.

That was the only possible explanation for why she was looking former Director Fury in the eye, when she’d seen him gunned down not a month before the end of everything. Not even two minutes in and she was getting a headache _because **what even.**_

“Director?” Maria asked carefully, but paused, because…what was she supposed to say?

How was she supposed to ask ‘were the last few weeks of my life just a neverending nightmare’, or ‘I did my best but it wasn’t enough and I’ve officially lost control of the situation’, or ‘I’m so, so sorry, we failed and the world ended and I don’t know what happens next’?

The only consolation to this mess was that he looked just as dazed as she felt.

It felt bizarre, standing in headquarters she hadn’t seen in years, with the quiet buzz of personnel going about their business— and that’s the second clue Maria gets, because the uniforms are different, but… _it couldn’t be._

“What date is it,” Director Fury finally managed, and now that she was looking for it, he looked younger than she’d last remembered, and—

Maria couldn’t remember what day it was, off the top of her head.

She _knew_ she’d last closed her eyes in 2018 but her knee-jerk reaction was to blurt out a very, very different date, and her headache was threatening to become a full-blown migraine because suddenly, Maria could _feel_ the memories of another timeline filter in and apparently they’d been about to go over a brief even though she _**remembered,**_ but…

First things first. After taking a deep breath to steady herself, she pushed back her grief and growing hope and relief, and gave Director Fury a level stare.

“Let’s take this to a secure location. We have a briefing to complete, after all.”

Because she wouldn’t have carried the files she had in hand, if they’d been about to do anything else. Finding an empty conference room and locking the door took less than a minute, and from there, she whirled away from the door, carefully set the files on the table, and turned to Fury.

“What is the last thing you remember, Director? Because unless I am mistaken, the year is 1995.”

Later, there would be much headscratching and brainstorming as to where things diverged, and how.

Later, many fingers would be pointed— SHIELD's blood feud with HYDRA, the emergence of the Red Room, the very first time a genetic mutation reached made international headlines, all of the ripples and waves that were pressing reminders that this world was not the one they had known.

Ironically enough, however, the blame did not lie with them.

[Funny, how even the most innocent of choices can seal a universe's fate.]

#### 1980:

Edwin Jarvis had not been having a good week, and that had been _before_ he discovered he'd eaten something his stomach disagreed with.

Howard was his friend, but the news of the results of the latest Arctic expedition had seen him in a particularly foul mood, and...Edwin wasn't certain he would be able to weather the storm if he were at anything less than one hundred percent.

Honestly, with the way Howard had been acting recently? He wasn't certain if he'd have been able to handle him even then. How Maria managed it once Howard was on his first brandy, Edwin didn't know and wasn't particularly interested in finding out. Not when he'd taken to escorting young Anthony to his room shortly after dinner, because no child deserved seeing their parents fight. Especially not like this. 

Then his head throbbed in time with a spike of nausea and that was it, he was calling in sick.

He shook his head. It was nothing he couldn't deal with.

#### 1995:

“What do you mean _we lost Tony Stark._ ” Director Fury growled. “He’s the prodigy only son and heir of a multimillion dollar conglomerate and founder of fucking SHIELD, _who the hell **fucked that up.**_ ”

“Someone dropped the ball in 1980.” Maria Hill replied evenly, sounding just as unimpressed as he did but far more proactive in her research as she scanned through every record they'd been able to access without weird looks. Her frown deepened as she continued. “Dropped it really badly, too— director, just what kind of man was Howard Stark?”

Director Fury glanced at the file she hadn’t put down, and gave a low whistle. “Damn. He sure knows how to pick ‘em.”

“You guys lost **_Tony?_** ” Clint grimaced. “Damn. The HYDRA mess I got, but how did _that_ happen?”

“Wasn’t us who screwed up, Barton. We’re down a heavy hitter, and the more I’m seeing this play out the more I’m thinking it's a damn shame we couldn't bring Howard's ex into this.”

“Wait, _what?_ ”

“You assholes had _**one job.**_ ” Bucky scowled from his spot by the doorway. “One job, all you had to do was keep track of the most high-profile kid in the country, when I did the heavy lifting, and you couldn’t even do that.”

“If you want an easy target, blame Howard.” Director Fury groused for the thousandth time, “We weren’t the ones who fucked up so badly some woman divorced his ass and vanished off the face of the earth.”

“What kind of—”

“Not exactly.” Natasha sounded a bit more irked than the situation warranted, but…then again, considering the subject matter, it was hard to blame her for it. “She burned his company and part of SHIELD when she walked out on him, took Tony with her too.”

Bucky blinked. " _How?_ "

Everyone knew what he was really asking. ‘How had they missed this?’ ‘How had someone like this flown under their radar?’

Maria Hill shrugged. “Upon further inspection, Maria Stark appears to be a very talented manipulator. Press coverage focused on Howard and Tony, and looks like she used that to her advantage.”

...that was the best they’d been able to scrape up from two universes' worth of intel. Nothing on personal motivations, radio silence on anything that didn't have to do with her family or charity work and that she'd been able to do what she had was...

“Frankly, had things been different I’d have tried to make a case for bringing her in even if she doesn’t know. We could use someone with that level of long-term contingency plans in our corner. As it is, though…” She trailed off, and Director Fury cut in.

"Her motivations are clear enough for us to know she won’t interfere with our main mission. Trying to find either her or Tony is a lost cause at this point in time; if they’ve been able to evade Howard for this long, it’s going to take a while to find any leads.” His voice lowered, but he continued. “We’re down a heavy hitter, and we’re all going to need to make some changes to the plan.”

"Screw it, the timeline's fucked already, might as well get Steve in on this."

"Sir, we don't know if he will remember—"

"Do you have any better ideas? We're already having a hard time with HYDRA and Thor's hammer showed up decades ahead of schedule, we need all hands on deck."

"...point."

“Wait, where’s Tony?” was Steve’s first question after he took a look around the now-familiar people around him.

The faces they made failed to put him at ease.

The following presentation didn’t exactly help, either.

“Where is Lord Anthony?” Thor asked, looking around the table in search for the missing face with a faint frown.

“Where is your Man of Iron?” Loki asked, and everyone groaned.

"What the hell is going on with AIM?"

James ‘Bucky’ Barnes had _thought_ he’d accounted for everything, back when he’d first set out to shape the century.

He’d been so, so meticulous, he'd himself a headache over how much he'd deliberated over it. Had written out a goddamn timeline of both everything he’d remembered and everything he’d read about after the fact, and burned it after he’d made his decision to fix as much of it as possible.

Staring at a young Prince T’Challa and a fast-approaching-middle-age King T’Chaka, however, he realized he had fucked up.

In his defense, though, it was one of the things he’d only learned about after the fact. Not to mention that it’d apparently been a dicey situation all around and he’d been in ice for most of it, and he hadn't known if it would even still happen, considering how much had already changed, and— okay, point was he wasn’t the remotely the only one who’d dropped the ball, okay?!

…just the only one who was aware there was a ball that had been dropped in the first place. _Damn it._

Bucky scrubbed a hand over his face and groaned internally. Moments like these, he almost regretted not just copying Steve and taking a 70-year-long nap because then he could've had an excuse ready because this _**so**_ wasn't his problem but by golly was he going to do his best to fix it anyway.

Okay, he could do this. 

Somehow. Even though he was a lot better at shooting things than talking and wow he _really_ missed Natalia right now. 

“What year is it?” He asked with no small amount of trepidation to a jarringly-young Okoye who had yet to make General.

“1993.” She answered with a vaguely suspicious frown, and he slumped because huh, maybe they might still be able to fix this after all. 

Bucky turned to King T’Chaka. 

“Does the name Erik Stevens ring a bell?”

The man shook his head, and Bucky braced himself for the worst as he continued.

“Well, I’m not sure how to break it to you gently, but it should. Your brother had a son.”

To his credit, T’Chaka didn’t faint. He _paled_ enough to where Bucky and some of the Dora Milaje readied to catch him just in case, though.

“How— no, it can’t—”

In for a penny, in for a pound. Bucky tried to get it over with quickly, like a Band-Aid. Wasn't like he could do anything to soften the blow, anyway.

“The kid was outside when you two had your confrontation. From what I was able to gather after the fact, he didn’t exactly have a good time in the American foster care system.”

By now T’Chaka was dangerously pale, and didn’t resist when Okoye ushered him to sit down.

“…so you might want to bring him in, is what I’m saying. Erik gave your son— and Wakanda, for that matter— one hell of a headache, where I’m from.” Bucky finished lamely, and took the disbelieving stares he got in stride. 

In every universe, the boy who would become Erik Killmonger was a product of his environment.

In one timeline, he would grow up with the odds stacked against him from the start. Would, after the death of his father, be shuffled off into a broken system and forgotten, condemned to be another statistic. Would be young and _angry_ , and only learn how to express it in certain ways. 

In this world, however…

N’Jadaka was in the foster care system for all of one year before a Wakandan agent took him home, adopted back into a family he’d only ever heard of.

And yes, he’s still angry, still _hurting_ — he lost his father, how could he not?— but in this place, he is accepted. He gets listened to without judgement, learns new ways and unlearns old toxic habits— and, as time goes by, starts to heal. He still carries the scars of past hurts, still carries an immense anger at the injustice of the world— but he does not let this define him.

In this lifetime, N’Jadaka grows up as the cousin Prince T’Challa. Grows up to work alongside Okoye in security and intel, and, later on, becomes one of the first of Wakanda’s ambassadors to the outside world.

Outside of Wakanda, however, things weren't going nearly as well.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I hereby call this meeting to order.” Fury said, voice ringing out over the din in the relatively-cramped room.

“What's going on?" Clint Barton asked as he leaned back in his chair— only to straighten up when Natasha elbowed him.

"People, this is the important one." Deputy Director Hill said as she passed out the folders, and he frowned slightly when he noticed the tension in the room.

Then he opened his own folder, and understood completely as he nearly fell from his chair.

"You can't be serious." Clint demanded, all levity gone. "Are we really talking about—"

"You've seen it yourself, Barton. Do you have any better ideas?"

"But—"

"Clint, this is the big one. Even bigger than the Steve situation." Natasha said, and he knew it but this was...

"We're seriously going to just let this happen?"

"We all knew there'd be hard choices, Clint. I know it's not pretty, but it's necessary for this timeline."

"I _know,_ okay? But it's just...it doesn't mean I have to be happy about it. We're sure he doesn't remember?"

"It'd be pretty damn obvious, Barton." Fury sighed. "But he doesn't, so we're going to avoid making too many changes."

Clint made a face.

They were all so, so glad to be alive— but there’d been so, so many they’d somehow left behind, in their home reality. People who they had yet to meet, people who hadn’t even been born, and every time they noticed or caused another change in this world, it was accompanied by a niggling tendril of fear that this was it, this would be the butterfly that would trigger a hurricane that would seal their fate.

It hadn’t happened [ ~~ _yet_~~ ]. But it was the reason they’d started the meetings in the first place, such as the hours-long arguments they’d had discussing the pros and cons of not recovering Steve ahead of schedule, or the one on the fate of Obadiah Stane, or the problem that was Howard Stark.

Sometimes, this strange new world felt like a little piece of heaven. Where SHIELD and HYDRA were sworn enemies, old friends were still alive and well, and a surreal lightness that even now felt too good to be true.

It was…even though there were a lot of new unknowns to contend with, for good or bad, there was still a fragile sort of hope in the air their own home had lost sometime after New York.

They would all fight tooth and nail to protect it.

Then Clint put both his hands on the table, and leaned back. "Fuck no, we're not doing this again."

Clint grimaced and crossed his arms. "Okay, but I want it to be known I'm doing this under protest."

#### 1998:

Tony Stark gave the ominously-nondescript man a tight smile.

"I believe your people are operating under a misunderstanding, agent. You're not getting me as a consultant, you can't afford me."

The agent looked... it was as if he knew something Tony didn't. Something big and gamechanging, and if he hadn't already shown his badge and been vouched for as coming from a legitimate agency, Tony would've already been bracing himself because the last time he'd seen that smile had been shortly before the AIM clusterfuck.

"What about your bodyguard?" Agent asked with an odd note of amusement in his voice, and Tony bristled at the implication.

"What Iron Man does on his days off, I don't know and don't care. But if you're harassing him on the clock? You're going to answer to me, _and_ my legal department."

...for some reason, Agent looked wistful for a moment there. Weird.

"You haven't even looked at the proposal yet." Agent said, acting so _reasonable,_ as if Tony was just overreacting to a simple request [ _as if Tony wasn't fully justified in staying the fuck away from SHIELD and its **shady** -as-all-get-out operations_] and the entire situation was...

Tony gave him a flat look. "I said what I said."

Agent almost made a face for a second, then looked back at him evenly. "If you were to open the folder, you would see that the project has nothing to do with the sort. Your company specializes in energy as much as technology, we need your expertise in the former to investigate some anomali—"

"No." Tony didn't even need to think about it.

Agent startled, at that. Incredibly so, as a matter of fact— a punch to the nose wouldn't have triggered the same reaction a simple 'no' did.

Tony felt incredibly offended on principle: even if he'd been curious before, this guy showing just how little he'd considered Tony's opinion killed off any interest he [ _or, rather, his 'bodyguard'_ ] might've had.

What, had he expected Tony to just play along?

_Tony Stark,_ when he'd had to deal with his father trying to drag him back into his circle of influence using just about every dirty trick in the book short of kidnapping? When _actual kidnappers_ hadn't been able to get him to bend to their will even after gods knew how many hours of torture?

_**Ha.**_

_Iron Man_ was the nice guy who could be persuaded to change his mind, given enough evidence. Was the one people went to when they needed help, because despite having an expressionless mask, he was far more approachable than his spiteful asshole of an employer. Was the one who, in his spare time, did a lot of heavy lifting during disaster relief work, and was always chipper as he extended a hand to anyone who needed it.

...as compared to Tony Stark, whose latest public appearance had been a charity gala and culminated in two arrests, a jurisdictional pissing match involving INTERPOL and the CIA, and yet another installment of the Stark Family Shitshow™ as the headlines got a beautiful shot of Tony flipping his father the bird while holding a champagne flute.

Why SHIELD had reached out to him, Tony didn't know; but now that they had, he was duty-bound to tell them to stay away. If only to keep up his standing policy of 'mess with Stark Solution employees, and face the fire-breathing dragon that is their CEO'.

Pity.

Especially considering he was still kinda curious, but...SHIELD wouldn't have respected his decisions, if their agent was anything to go by.

Maybe it wasn't fair of him to pick something as small as a reaction to being told 'no' as a basis for how he'd handle this, sure.

But he'd fought too long and too hard to set his boundaries. If he hadn't taken this kind of bullshit from Howard or Stane, he sure as hell wasn't taking it from anyone else.

Tony gave a sharp _smile_ to the still-visibly dismayed agent standing before him. "Agent, when I say no, I _mean_ it. Good luck finding someone else for whatever it is."

And so Phil Coulson found himself walking slowly back to SHIELD headquarters, empty-handed and with a fresh reminder of just how different people could be from the way he'd remembered them.

He wasn't the only one having this discovery, however.

#### Warning: this timeline has potentially-triggering themes such as suicidal thoughts, attempted suicide, and is the reason for the above tags relating to implied character death.

From here, there are three options:

Go back to the beginning to choose another path.

Proceed to Afghanistan [ _Warning: suicidal thoughts and implied suicide attempt following a mental breakdown_ ]

Skip Afghanistan and jump straight to 2012 in a world without Iron Man

#### 1991:

In a world where mutant rights were as hotly debated as civil rights in the United States, where children could be kicked out by their families and labeled as 'freaks' because of something they could not control and AIM and HYDRA were both acknowledged as domestic terrorist groups by the FBI and Reed Richards was Tony Stark's self-professed rival in academia— it's funny, how the more things change, the more they stay the same.

In a different universe, Howard and Maria Stark would be assassinated by HYDRA.

In this world, however, Howard Stark's alcohol problem culminated in the public relations disaster of the decade.

After all, one of the biggest names in philanthropy was still in the coma she'd been in after the accident— and the odds of her ever waking up were...not good. Meanwhile, the man responsible for her condition walked out of the same hospital with nothing but a scowl, a limp, and a slap on the wrist to show for his wife's condition.

His son would never forgive him for it.

When Tony turned 18, he took all the money from his patent royalties and walked away.

When Tony turned 21, he looked his father square in the eyes as he announced his takeover of the philanthropic side of Stark Industries.

#### Afghanistan, 2008:

The entire demonstration had been a disaster from start to finish. Or, well, no: it went _too_ well, which was a whole other headache.

Tony hadn't wanted to go to Afghanistan, but they needed this contract, [ _ **he** needed it, to keep the board members out of Stane's pocket and get rid of him once and for all—_] and so Tony'd found himself having to cancel his reservation for that engineering conference in Leipzig and instead found himself showing off the latest in what he'd privately called his spite line of weapons [ _short for 'Outshine Howard Out of Sheer Spite', aka 'this sounded like a good idea at three in the morning but now feels like overkill'_ ] under a glaring sun in a country where he couldn't even get a good drink if he didn't bring it himself.

Fun times.

Made even worse by the fact that the Jericho seemed to be a smash hit with these generals, and Tony just continued smiling and acting like there wasn't anywhere else in the world he wanted to be, like they weren't all having three conversations at the same time.

The soldiers themselves were the highlight of the presentation, honestly. But then, they were a good chunk of the reason he'd stayed with Stark Industries, because...well.

The ones in this convoy were practically _kids,_ compared to him. Tony may not have anyone at home who'd miss him, but these soldiers were...he could easily imagine they had friends and family waiting for them at home. He could far-too-easily imagine Rhodey when he'd been their age, and it's because of moments like these that he remembers the promises he'd made to himself when he'd first set out to reshape Stark Industries.

So of course it all goes to hell in less than ten minutes.

Tony’s last coherent memories are of the bomb with his name on it, when **_it_** hits. Suddenly, it’s not just his past flashing before his eyes, but his future as well—years’ worth of memories, of trauma after trauma with next to no support whatsoever because the world did its best to _**break**_ him and—

_and—_

and that instant, he’s tired.

He’s so, _so_ tired, and he sees the road ahead and the idea of having to do that all over again is just. Too much. He knows the agony that follows, and knows that he was lucky to have survived a bomb to the chest last [ _this?_ ] time, and…even if he’s terrified at the prospect of Thanos coming, he just.

Can’t.

He can’t, anymore, he’d barely managed to pull through last time, asking him to do _it all over again_ was _**too much**_ — he was surrounded by people who were now fighting tooth and nail for who was nothing but a burden, someone who didn't deserve it, who killed everything he touched no matter what he did and—

and, looking at the bomb with his literal name on it not three yards away, all Tony sees is an out.

The world was better off without him in it, anyway.

#### 1995:

"Who is this Reed Richards guy?"

"Forget _him,_ who the hell are these guys running around in spandex?"

"This entire timeline is a goddamn mess."

Director Nick Fury was not a happy camper.

First was the migraine courtesy of remembering another universe [ _where things actually **made sense—**_ ] and then came the headache that was trying to figure out the differences.

His Deputy Director looked haggard as she shuffled through her notes, a neon-and-sticky-note-filled _mess_ as they worked their way through both timelines.

"Does anyone remember any chatter about strange mutations?" Maria Hill asked the room at large, not looking away from the first thumbtack on the cork board.

"Nope."

"Okay, just covering basics here." She replied curtly, then made another note. "Different Cuban Missile Crisis, check, need to look into academia in the '60s and we didn't _have_ a Professor Charles Xavier, so _that's_ right out..."

Natasha delicately picked through the pile of newspaper clippings in front of her, and raised an eyebrow. "This 'Magneto' sure was busy, wasn't he."

Hill stopped her with one hand, still writing with the other and glaring at her notes. "Do not. Talk to me about that guy, I'm going to need to pull some strings to get what intel we have on him, like I don't have enough to do already when it comes to mutants."

"What are they, anyway?"

"Less than a pain in the ass than HYDRA. Thank _god_ they didn't infiltrate SHIELD in this one, this is enough of a headache as is." Hill replied distractedly, leaning over to tack on another note to a wobbly stack one door slam from tipping over.

"Seems to me that there's a lot of chatter that's the same lines as anything remotely approaching queer issues back _then._ " Agent Coulson said mildly.

Hill made a noise of affirmation. "Kids getting kicked out of homes and there's people talking about 'cures', there are _absolutely_ some parallels. Also ties with civil rights, because this 'Brotherhood' reminds me of stuff I read about Malcolm X _and_ this is getting off topic, anyone know if we had an AIM like this?"

Everyone shared a look.

"...didn't Tony deal with them?" Clint asked, and Natasha made a face.

"On his own, and other than somehow faking his death while saving the President of the United States I don't know what happened. Did he talk to you about it?"

"Nope. We were never that close. How about you, Phil? He looked pretty shaken up when he heard you died after New York."

Agent Coulson shifted his weight slightly but otherwise didn't react.

"...you did tell him, didn't you?" Clint asked with no small amount of trepidation.

"No I did not." Came the curt reply, and Clint groaned.

"Off-topic," Hill cut in acidly, "I'll take it as not enough information and table it. First movement seems to be around the mid-seventies, looks like a mad scientist group. _Moving on._ Latveria."

Agent Coulson replied. "We had this one, actually. Civil war in the early nineties, and nobody questioned how a monarchy that survived everything the Soviet Union threw at it fell right after—"

"HYDRA," Clint coughed.

"—but its territory got mostly snapped up by neighboring countries in the time that followed. What's left ended up becoming Sokovia."

Everyone exchanged a look.

"Any read on the twins?"

"Yes and no. We have a Wanda and Pietro Maximoff running around and making a name for themselves in activism, but..." Coulson frowned down at his notes, then turned to Hill with a slight frown.

"Is this a typo?"

"Are you questioning my research?" Hill asked with a smile that fooled absolutely no one, which only intensified when Coulson hastily shook his head. "Nope, not a typo. All records point to them being Magneto's kids, and _yes_ that's part of why I need to look further where he's concerned because he's a Holocaust survivor and a good chunk of the reason all our intel's worse than useless for anything after 1963. Him and Xavier. _Moving on—_ "

"Jesus, Hill, when's the last time you took a break?"

At that, Hill's face went blank and her shoulders stiffened, before deliberately relaxing. Then she put down her pen and the notepad she'd been writing on, and whirled on Clint.

"You do not seem to be aware of the situation. We are in _completely uncharted waters here._ This is not a vacation, we are trying to save the world here and all I have is limited personnel, useless intel and a timeframe that _does not allow for mistakes. **Do you understand.**_ We cannot afford to miss anything, we do not want history to repeat itself and if I have to work overtime to make sure it all doesn't end in fire again, so be it. Otherwise? Get. Out."

"Hey—" Coulson started, only for her to glare at him too.

"You mismanaged an asset so badly he didn't even think of asking for help from the people who should have been there with him. We don't know anything about AIM, or the Chitauri, or any of the other major groups he faced— because he never felt comfortable discussing them with anyone in this group. _You don't get to talk._ "

She leaned back into her chair, abruptly exhausted even though her tone brooked no argument. "We're at square one, less than that in some cases. As it stands right now, we're outgunned and hilariously outmatched for what is to come. You all know what's at stake, people, so do the work. Or don't get in the way when I do."

Director Fury rubbed his temples in a vain attempt to ease his headache, and sighed.

Worst part was, he couldn't help but agree with her assessment.

"We don't need you burning out, Hill." He finally said.

She made a face as if to reply, but he powered on. "You've made incredible contributions to the mission. You did a great job at consolidating everything we know and gathering avenues to narrow down hypotheticals, but _none of that_ is going to help if you crash and burn in the next three months. You're part of a team, it's not just you on your lonesome."

Hill snorted as she cast a disdainful look around the room. "With all due respect, Director, but I was the one who saw just how well a team this has been in the past. Forgive me if my faith in their performance is less than stellar."

Clint shifted awkwardly. "In my defense, I was only around for part of it."

"And yet you saw fit to recruit the HYDRA volunteer who mind-controlled the Hulk into attacking the largest civilian population in South Africa not two days beforehand. The _Black Widow_ wasn't that hard a sell, last time."

In his chair, Coulson made a soft, wounded noise while Clint cringed.

"Mistakes were made." Director Fury cut in before things got out of hand again. "We know and acknowledge this. Hill, this isn't all on you."

"It was last time." She snapped, and he sighed.

Right. Hill had been on the front lines, last time. Apparently, she'd worked with Tony towards the end— and if Tony was anything like how he'd remembered, then that meant she'd seen him burning himself out trying to save the world by himself.

Fuck, he wasn't a therapist and he _did not_ want to touch that with a ten-foot pole, but...

"This isn't then. The habits and behaviors you picked up helped you survive that environment, but not all are applicable now."

_...and_ now everyone was looking at him like he'd sprouted a second head. Great. That was the last time he quoted one of the better self-help books he'd been reading after having to deal with the 'so you died a horrible painful death and are now stuck in a world that has hover boards but not Google' thing.

"Director?"

"Believe it or not, it's okay to ask for help, Hill."

"Like that worked out _so well_ before." She muttered, and he pinched the bridge of his nose yet again.

"Take a day off, Hill. I'll do the research in the meantime, but for the next 24 hours you are now officially banned from our archives."

" _Hey—_ "

"When's the last time you drank something that wasn't coffee?"

She took a beat to long to respond, and he groaned. Figures Stark's bad habits rubbed off on his people.

"Coulson, with me. You two— pull yourselves together and don't fuck this up again."

Clint Barton scowled at everyone else around the table.

"Like _hell_ I'm okay with this. You can't be serious about letting this shit happen again. What the hell is wrong with you guys?"

Natasha gave him a flat look. "It's not that simple, Clint. I'm not happy about it, but it's a key event that changed the world. Are you willing to risk it?"

"Are _you_ willing to risk him not pulling through?"

He countered, deadly serious in a way he almost never was. "He barely survived last time, you willing really to gamble on the changes not affecting that somehow?"

Phil Coulson cut in. "We've run the numbers. Things have been kept on track so far, it's not as big a risk as you're making out to be."

"Still not ready to risk it. We weren't besties the way he was with Bruce, but I'm not comfortable risking the guy's life. Why's this even up for discussion?"

This time, it was Deputy Director Hill who gave him a flat look. "You've never had to deal with Howard Stark or Obadiah Stane, have you."

Back to the beginning.

Steve got a sinking feeling as he saw Howard Stark’s sneer under the headline of the paper he had yet to read. Just one look, and even though this was a strange new world, he couldn’t help but think…

Director Fury took one look at his face, then at the paper sitting at the counter, and sighed. “You _did_ remember Howard changed, right?”

Steve couldn’t help but frown, at that. “But this is— this wouldn’t have happened, back _then!_ Maybe we just need to talk—”

At that, Director Fury scoffed, a sound that was echoed faintly above the fridge as Clint made his way to the coffeemaker.

“Oh, no. I hate to break it to you Cap, but this _absolutely_ would have happened.” He muttered as he rifled through the counter to find his mug. Then, noticing their looks, Clint shrugged. “Director’s the one that knows him best, but even _**I**_ know the guy’s a piece of work.”

Steve looked at Director Fury with a wordless plea in his eyes, but the man just shook his head. “He’s right. I know you have this idealized image of Howard, but you’re going to need to get rid of that stat, Rogers.”

“Wait, you mean—” Clint started, before he gave Director Fury a look, frowned even deeper, and chugged his coffee before he stalked out of the room with a muttered, “damn it not another one…”

“What?” Steve knew he sounded defensive, but…he was lost, [ _again,_ ] adrift in a time and world that wasn’t his own, [ _ **again,**_ ] and they expected him to just know everything and—

“Goddamnit Rogers, you were supposed to pay attention during the briefing.” Director Fury snapped. “ _This isn’t the world you remember._ If you don’t roll with the punches that come with saving the world, then get the fuck out of our way.”

_“Hey—”_

“You _remember._ You _**know**_ what the stakes are, we cannot afford for you to fuck anything up. Damn it. Looks like we’re going to have to call an emergency meeting.”

“Okay, from the top.” Maria Hill’s sharp voice cut through the din that came with cramming seven people in a glorified broom closet trying to pass itself off as a secured conference room, and everyone settled down while she passed several folders around. “Here’s what we have of our original timeline, here’s the changes that have been noticed in this one, on page three is the list of key players and the contingency plans in place for handling assets. As always, burn this before leaving.”

“What’s the emergency?” Natasha asked, eyes sharp and spine straight.

“Howard Stark is becoming even more of a liability than expected.” Maria Hill replied, even as Director Fury tossed several copies of the morning paper onto the table. “His pushing has destabilized the timetable for everything else we’ve had planned insofar as technology and foreign policy goes, and…we might need to reassess his role in the mission.”

“Wait, wait— what exactly? Reassess as in bringing him in, or...” Dr. Banner didn't flush green, but the look in his eyes was more than enough to make up for it.

“We do not advocate assassinations, doctor.” Maria Hill replied with an even tone. “But as is, you were not around doing damage control in '96. Even _with_ all the work we did to prevent the disaster and Howard’s alleged retirement, he ‘unretired’ nearly as quickly as Barton did during the ‘Civil War’ of our time. Nearly half a decade of work, and the bastard undid all of it within _weeks._ ”

“But why don’t you call him in?” Steve asked again, and was met with six disbelieving looks.

Finally, Dr. Banner broke the silence. “Steve…I don’t know him, myself, but…just from what I’ve seen, and heard from Tony _before,_ Howard isn’t the man you remember. You need to remember he’s experienced seventy years of a history neither you nor I know of, he’s lived through the end of World War II and Korea and Vietnam and who knows what else. He’s seen the war it’s all he knows now, Steve, and you need to accept that.”

“Man was part of the Manhattan Project.” Director Fury chipped in with a tired look. “I don’t think I need to explain that one to you, do I?”

“But Tony—”

“ _ **Steve.**_ ” Natasha cut him off sharply, then paused and gentled her tone. “It’s a terrible idea. Howard and Tony are very different people, treating them otherwise would be a huge disservice to both. Now more than ever.”

Noticing his look, she pressed onwards. “Leave this Tony alone in a workshop for a week, and he’ll somehow set water on fire and make three different robot prototypes. Give Howard access to those same tools, and he’d make a bomb capable of taking out New York City. Different strokes, Steve.”

It was a very painful realization to have. Very, very painful, especially because the man he’d glimpsed in the headlines and in his friends’ words was…was…

“Howard’s a piece of work.” Director Fury said, and rubbed his temples. “Even more of a headache than his kid sometimes, no matter how ridiculous that sounds.”

“…right.” Steve murmured, and didn’t resist the urge to bury his head in his hands as realization after realization came crashing to the fore.

“I suggest we adjourn for now.” He heard Natasha say, and didn’t doubt the look she was giving him.

He appreciated it— right now, he just wanted to be alone right now, maybe break a punching bag or three. Just…he needed to think.

This world was even more of a mess than he’d expected, and Steve didn’t know where he stood anymore.

Tony Stark had been all of seven years old when he'd been abducted by his mother.

Howard Stark had not stopped searching since.

And in the meantime, Obadiah Stane saw an _opportunity_ and took it with both hands.

#### 1995:

Deputy Director Maria Hill took a single look at one of the newspapers' headlines, before snatching it up and shoving some bills of whatever currency she had in her wallet at the seller— might've been euros, considering their confused yelp— as she speed-walked back to HQ.

"What is it?" Director Fury asked as she marched in, but she didn't answer.

Instead, she all-but-dragged him to her office, and signaled him to get Agent Coulson while she did her routine check for bugs to ensure the area was secure.

Then, and only then, did she slam down her newspapers, letting them both see the grainy photographs in all their glory.

Maria Hill watched as both Fury and Coulson's faces _paled_ as they took in the headlines. Some announcing the CEO and face of the newest company to reach Fortune 500, others telling all and sundry of the turmoil in the stock market and academia as the owner Stark Industries was being accused of extortion and intellectual property theft— a heavy accusation for someone who had once worked on the Manhattan Project.

But there was no denying it, not for something on this scale.

Not when all the headlines agreed on one thing: for better or worse, Ivan Vanko was here to stay.

Clearly, something had very, very wrong in this timeline.

#### 2012:

Loki Friggason didn’t gasp, didn’t stumble, didn’t blanch. Didn’t give any sign of weakness, as he took his first few breaths since Ragnarok.

Oh, but _Norns_ did he want to.

If he hadn’t clung to what was left his dignity, he would have. Especially as his eyes refocused and it took every scrap of his centuries’ of experience to not react at the familiar glass prison that the Midgardians had once put him in [ _ ~~as a specimen for their amusement~~_ ].

It took a less than a minute, to realize what was going on. For his body to twinge unpleasantly at the old [ _ ~~torture~~_ ] and new wounds, to blink away the last of the blue haze that lingered and parse through the memories.

To avoid frowning, as he straightened up and set to discreetly healing himself, because— they didn’t match up. Not that he was complaining, as he had absolutely no intention of carrying on with Thanos’ plan, but…something very strange was afoot.

Well. First things first: time to gather information.

Now that his magic was unbound, now that his mind was his own and not under thrall or in the throes of madness…Loki felt the beginnings of a cold smile steal over his face.

This should be _interesting._

Not five minutes after his escape, however, Loki found himself frowning even more intensely than before.

Finding a disguise had been child’s play, leaving an image of himself in captivity even more so. No, what made his unease rise was everything else he was encountering, and the way it clashed with what he remembered of the world Before.

This ship was supposed to be airborne, was it not? There were fewer people to dodge, as well, but most concerning was the sight he had stumbled upon in his forays.

There had been little love lost between Loki and Thor’s quaint Midgardian allies: most of their vaunted team had reminded him far too much of the Warriors Three, all well-intentioned chivalric brawn with little else to speak of, but…two of them had stood out to him. The Spider with her intriguing wordplay, and the Man of Iron.

The Man of Iron, who was missing. Both from the war room, and from Loki’s most recent memories.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

And he was getting bored, and there was little else he could do without upsetting the status quo and he wanted to derail the Mad Titan’ plan, so…time for a touch of chaos.

The yelp he got as he made his appearance known was satisfyingly loud.

The multiple guns aimed at his afterimage were less welcome, but understandable, and the way Thor and the rest of his allies were looking at him as he faux-absentmindedly started toying with a knife was enough to tell him everything he’d needed to know about the situation.

“I see you all survived Ragnarok as well—” Loki started, but didn’t get any further as Thor bodily threw himself at him as the rest of the room started to move.

Ugh.

No, he didn’t feel quiet relief or gratitude at the knowledge that his brother was safe and healthy and alive, no, he was irritated. Yes. Just irritated. Right.

Loki cleared his throat, and tried to start over again.

“Thor, you _oaf—_ ” He tried to hiss, tried to keep his voice from cracking and betraying how he felt, tried to shove at the iron bands that kept his arms pinned because his brother’s bear hugs had been infamous for a reason [ _ ~~back when he still cared~~_ ]—

**_Anyway._**

A halfhearted shove was worse than useless, incidentally, and Loki tried to look away from their little audience as he fought to keep his bearing as dignified as possible when one had the god of thunder all-but-sobbing into his shoulder.

“No way.” The Archer breathed, pale as a sheet even as he white-knuckled his chair. “You remember too?”

“I’m not about to go through with the Mad Titan’s plans, if that’s what you’re asking.” Loki snapped, and tried to bristle even as the rest of the room started to put two and two together and got five, if the profanity was anything to go by.

“You mean—”

“Oh, _fu—_ ”

“ _Son_ of a—”

“It broke the control, yes.” He replied curtly, and didn’t react even as Thor shuddered, and his newly-healed ribs groaned from the increased pressure.

“Thor, think you can ease up? He’s turning a really weird color there.” The Spider said, and he did _not_ feel gratitude, no. Absolutely not.

“You’re saying you were mind controlled, last time.” The one-eyed man said, suspicion heavy in his voice and gun unwavering.

Had Loki not been broken and reforged and shattered again, he would have responded to that challenge with a sneer. As it was, he could not help the bitter laugh that erupted.

“Funny what several months of torture and the Mind Stone can do, isn’t it.” He wasn’t going to mention the madness before the fall. He _wasn’t._

The looks the Midgardians exchanged ranged from disbelieving to horrified, and Thor’s iron grip finally relaxed.

“So we can count you as an ally, then? I don’t think so.” The Captain said, crossing his arms.

“Do what you will,” Loki started to shrug, before a stray thought crossed his mind. “Although…I do have a question. Where is the Man of Iron?”

Silence.

Then, Thor— who had been joyful not _seconds_ before— put his hand on his shoulder, and somberly replied, “He’s dead, brother.”

Oh.

Loki had only known him for a few brief moments, from the cacophony these Midgardians had the audacity to call ‘music’ to his offer of a drink accompanied by an unrepentant threat and a smile.

He…hadn’t been fond of the man, truly. Hadn’t been amused, hadn’t been reminded of himself when he’d glimpsed the Man of Iron’s sniping with his purported allies, no, absolutely not. Really.

However…

“Ah.” Loki replied, then feigned a cold laugh and shook his head at the [ _ ~~cruel, **cruel**~~_ ] irony. “I suppose it’s very fortunate I have absolutely no intention going to go through with the plan, then.”

He noticed the Captain making a face as if to protest, and with a strange, feral sort of vindication, turned to look at the one-eyed man and continued. “For I do not know who else would have been capable of wiping out the entire invading force of the Chitauri, otherwise.”

Ugh. Loki had to do _everything_ himself, didn't he.

#### 1983:

The woman who formerly went by the name of Maria Stark didn't set out to adopt an amnesiac stranger when she set out to run her errands, that particular morning.

Or use every shred of her image as a pretty young woman wandering around alone in the wrong part of town, all wide-eyed and innocent and most _definitely_ not smuggling out a man who'd singlehandedly taken down a roomful of jack-booted types in her trunk, for that matter, but beggars can't be choosers.

It'd been awe-inspiring, really. She owed him one: she might not have been able to make it back home after her local contact sold her out, otherwise.

And nothing scared her more than the thought of leaving her son alone to deal with Howard. Not after what she'd seen he was capable of.

"Thanks for the help back there." Maria said casually as she let the complete stranger out of her trunk in an otherwise-empty parking garage.

The man eyed her warily.

"Want a meal? And a shower, because bloodstains are a _bitch_ to get out, and don't take this the wrong way but—"

The way he reacted, she might as well have pulled a gun on him, instead of offered some help.

Unfortunately, Maria could understand only too well why. Even now, his split knuckles were closing up before her eyes, and considering his display back there?

"You saw." He said with no small amount of suspicion. "I have no clue why you offered to get me you, but you at least _saw._ "

"Buddy, you're not the only one running from something." Maria quirked a smile as she gave him a sidelong look.

Maybe she was taking a risk here, but...he'd already proven he was more trustworthy than some members of her own damn network. Almost complete stranger or not, he was the reason she was still alive. Her gut instinct said he was okay, and thus far it hadn't led her astray, so...

"Want to come home with me?"

"What the hell is your problem, lady?"

Which, _rude._

"You know, all you had to do was say no." She huffed and crossed her arms.

"...you're crazy, you know that? I could be a serial killer for all you know."

"So long as you don't hurt a hair of my son's head, we won't have any problems." Maria replied simply.

He gave an aggrieved sigh, then scrubbed a hand over his face. She caught a muttered "—am I even doing this, this is a mistake—" in there as he closed the trunk, and had a beatific smile ready as he turned to her with an even deeper scowl than before.

"Fucking _fine._ It's been a while since I had a roof over my head, anyway. I think."

Maria's smile brightened even more, and she extended her hand to shake his gently. "Pleased to meet you, Mr..."

"I don't know." He raised an eyebrow but obligingly shook her hand, amused despite himself. "Right now I'm going by Logan."

"Hello, Logan. Welcome to the family."

#### 1997:

In the shadowed room, the swivel chair turned and Director Fury’s voice pierced the silence.

“We’ve been expecting you, Soldier.”

“…are you fucking serious.” Bucky growled, then hit the lights and made a face as everyone else in the room relaxed.

“You’ve been a busy man, Mr. Barnes.”

“What can I say, I had a few decades and I was bored.”

“You woke up when you fell from the train, didn’t you.” Maria Hill said more than asked, and he nodded.

“Woke up, realized HYDRA was about to find me, and fucked off to Wakanda because like hell I was doing this bullshit again. Good thing Azzuri was willing to hear me out.”

“Told you so,” Hill unsubtly elbowed Director Fury. “Pay up.”

“Back to the subject,” Phil Coulson said stridently, trying to keep things devolving before they had everything in order. “Just what exactly have you been up to? We’ve noticed a few changes, but I’d rather hear straight from the source.”

“Oh, this and that.” Bucky gestured vaguely. “Tried to avert an assassination here, undid a sabotage there.”

Hill leaned forward and frowned slightly. “What methodology did you use to make these decisions? How did you account for sociopolitical ramifications? Did you—”

“Lady, all I did was try and remember what HYDRA had me doing, and do the exact opposite.” Bucky raised his hands, then shrugged. “S’not like all of it stuck, anyhow. I saved some people and projects, but…not sure if it was the butterfly effect or what, but some things ended up happening anyway.”

“Hey, answer me this,” Clint cut in, eyes sharp but not disguising the gleam of genuine interest, “were you there for JFK?”

Bucky flushed. “Okay, look, I don’t remember exactly how it went down originally but _it wasn’t me this time._ ”

_“You killed Kennedy?!”_

_**“Not this time!”**_ He snapped. Then his shoulders hunched, and he continued. “…that I can say, for certain. But look— I tried to prevent it, okay? It's not my fault Magneto distracted me when I was trying to run security. Fucking Oswald.”

Clint looked a mix between thunderstruck and highly entertained, Natasha merely nodded and shared a look with Maria Hill, Phil Coulson looked pained and Director Fury merely pinched the bridge of his nose as he sighed.

“Why am I not surprised.”

Bucky scowled. “Look, at least I was _**trying**_ to fix everything I could. Howard Stark’s alive, for crying out loud. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Wait— _you_ killed the Starks?” Clint cut in, all previous amusement gone. “I thought it was…”

“I could’ve sworn Steve told you guys during that whole ‘civil war’ mess.” Bucky replied, now frowning for a completely different reason. “He knew. Wait, shit, did he tell _Tony—_ oh fuck, no wonder he flipped out in Siberia.”

Everyone else in the room exchanged a long look, the abruptly-tense silence now just the calm before the storm as the ramifications hit home.

“Well, at least now we know why Tony didn’t want to work with him.” Bruce said after a few minutes’ worth of carefully-regulated breathing. “Especially after the hard time Steve was giving him with Ultron, and then…”

“Now is not the time for regrets,” Phil Coulson cut in with a new weariness that spoke of long experience. “We’re trying to prevent future disaster, not recreate it.”

“Easy for you to say.” Bruce snapped, eyes flashing green for a second as he lifted his head to glare. “ _You’re_ not the one who— I owe him an apology. A really, really big one. I thought he was just being dramatic, just…”

He cut himself off, taking deep breaths as he turned away.

Natasha sympathized. “We’re sure he has yet to remember?”

Director Fury gave a grim smile. “At this rate, I'm wondering if he ever will.”

After all, this Tony was nigh-unrecognizable.

In this universe, there is no Battle of New York. No swarms of Chitauri streaming in through a portal to herald the imminent threat that was the Mad Titan, no mass casualties, no warheads launched that would drag the World Security Council under great scrutiny for considering millions of civilians as 'acceptable collateral damage'.

Instead, Loki Friggason called off the attack before it could even start.

Instead, he _smiled_ and gave new orders and used all his skill in magic to successfully sever the connection between the Mad Titan and the Mind Stone.

It was no easy thing to do; he'd been running on fumes for the entirety of this mess, had been recovering from mind control and torture and hadn't had even five minutes of rest as he scrambled to derail the chain of events that would culminate in the end of days.

But he did it anyway, acutely aware of the wary looks the Midgardians threw at his back, and of the way Thor refused to leave his side.

Loki didn't return to Asgard.

Thor did, Mind Stone in hand as he made a vain attempt to clear his brother's name in their realm, but Loki was perfectly content to never return.

[ _He could count on one hand how many people cared about ~~him~~ his survival._]

Instead, Loki absconded with the Tesseract, and hid it in one of the many nooks of the Yggdrasil that branched into Midgard. Not that these 'Avengers' appreciated having less of a target painted on their collective backs, but then, it wasn't like he particularly cared about their opinion anyway. Not anymore.

There was much work to be done— especially since the Midgardians who remembered a different world were now failing miserably in their endeavor to prevent Ragnarök from happening again.

All the while, Thor traveled back and forth between Asgard and Midgard and Loki did not envy him in the slightest.

" _Why_ did you steal the Tesseract, the Allfather had been about to—"

"Let me guess. Forgive me? Of what, surviving from what should have been certain death?" Loki asked acerbically, then shook his head. "Your father was just looking for an excuse."

"Brother—"

"He is your father, not mine. Asgard was _never_ home to me, Thor, you of all people should understand why. I will never return."

"Mother misses you."

...low blow. Even Thor was able to notice he'd crossed a line, impossible as though it may have been not five years ago.

"When is the Convergence set to occur, again?" Loki asked stiffly, and Thor took the subject change gratefully.

"In a handful of months. You are _certain_ your wards will be enough to secure the Aether."

Loki gave him the look it deserved as he crossed his arms. "Which one of us studied magic since we could walk, again?"

"And you are certain you do not wish to involve the others? It would be—"

"They cannot even keep one of their allies safe, you expect me to trust them with our mother's life?"

Thor shrugged. "I had to try."

Thor’s the one who remembers how it came to happen, but in this lifetime, it’s Loki who removes the catalyst that results in their mother’s death.

Is the one who who ends up following Jane Foster, and prevents her from stumbling into the shadows of the Yddgrasil that leads to the Aether.

...also the one who ends up having to derail the Svartalfars' attempts to use the Convergence to their advantage, having assumed Thor had told him everything he'd missed during his imprisonment _last time,_ which, in retrospect, was a very foolish thing to have done and resulted in a very pissed off Frost Giant squaring off against a race previously considered extinct.

Truly, he should have known better than to expect this little venture to have resulted in anything other than disaster.

Especially since Thor had ended up needing to run interception for him on Asgard, distracting Heimdall and the Allfather while trying to avoid suspicion. Ugh. If it weren't for the fact that he was also keeping an eye on their mother, Loki would use this to win every single argument they had for the rest of the millennium because he was left completely alone to deal with a fighting force that had devastated Asgard _last time._

As it was, however, Loki had things well in hand.

...for the most part. In his defense, Thor'd had the assistance of not only the entirety of Asgard, but also quite a few of the more accomplished Midgardians— whereas Loki had only his wits to help him.

All of his furtive studies of how to travel through the Yggdrasil paid off in spades as he raced from one realm to another, baiting the Svartalfar and trapping them where he could and and utilizing the terrain when he couldn't. Hostile native life, the harsh landscape— it didn't matter. He lost count of how many times his magic kept him a hairsbreadth from death, one step ahead and to the left of where they struck, how many times it was flicker of will and a shockingly-agreeable Infinity Stone that kept his head firmly on his shoulders, instead of bleeding out in a Norn-forsaken land.

And then, when things escalated and his illusions weren't enough, he found himself resorting to pulling out his stolen Tesseract, and... _temporarily borrowing_ the Casket of Ancient Winters. Not theft, because he put he back once he was finished, but Loki's discovery that the Svartalfar handled the cold even more poorly than Asgardians was one he exploited to the fullest when it came to his quest to keep them from ever reaching his brother's home.

[ _And if somewhere during that fight, he found himself dealing with complex emotions because he'd been raised to hate his heritage yet his ability to wield a force that could restart an ice age was the one that helped save the day? Well, that was something he'd deal with later, when he **wasn't** fighting for his life._]

Unfortunately, however, his image had somehow ended up plastered across the Midgardians' information modules of choice in the process, and as flattered as he was to find that some considered him attractive while fighting for his life against murderous entities, it was still something he could have gladly gone without and Thor would no doubt tease him about if he were to ever hear of it.

Well. At least he won, that was something.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I hereby call this meeting to order.” Fury said, voice ringing out over the din in the relatively-cramped room.

“What are we calling it anyway? Time Travelers Anonymous? I mean, considering Nat and I've been around since Budape—” Clint asked conversationally as it died down, only to straighten up at the Deputy Director’s quelling glare.

“People, this is serious. Chatter’s picking up on the Winter Soldier being active, and we all know what it means.” Fury continued, and _now_ everyone else snapped to attention.

“Wait, we’re sure it’s him?” Natasha cast a glance at him, and he nodded soberly.

“His reputation can’t be anyone else, unless anyone knows _another_ idiot with a metal arm who’s been running around off and on for the past few decades.”

“Damn.” Clint whistled lowly. “Why hasn’t this come up before?”

“He’s equal parts urban legend and cryptid.” Fury snorted. “Only shows up once in a blue moon, and he’s as camera-shy as ever.”

Natasha leaned in with a slight frown. “But we’re sure it’s _him,_ and not…”

Maria Hill rifled though her notes, and spread them out on the table, talking as she went. “His appearances fit with the timeline I’ve compiled, almost on the dot. But the effects are different— see here, with the Chilean elections? Intel had him pegged as the most likely shooter, back home, but here the vic reported a masked man saved his life. And it’s not the only case, either.”

“You did that just by memory?” Clint sounded impressed. “And here I can barely remember what I had for lunch last week.”

“So I’m assuming we’re bringing him in?” Natasha asked, not looking away from the last data point. “Or are we trying to get word out some other way?”

“That’s what we’re here for.” Fury replied, and Clint gave him a sharp glance.

“You mean we might not?”

“By all rights, he’s the first one to show up and try to micromanage the timeline.” Fury shrugged. “I’d say that’s enough to cut him some slack, don’t you?”

“But—”

“If it is him, he’s been doing well enough by himself. If he wanted to reach out, he could’ve left a message— but he didn’t.”

“Because he doesn’t think he’s not alone!” Clint retorted, and Hill held her hand up, expression darkening slightly.

“Evidence points otherwise.” She said simply, then turned towards Fury with a slightly questioning look.

He nodded at her, then addressed the rest of them. “We’ve been monitoring Steve’s crash site. Absolutely _nothing’s_ been touched, and given the rest of the evidence? Barnes could’ve gone there, could’ve recovered him. He just chose…not to.”

Clint blinked, at that, even as Natasha’s expression cleared up. “Why?”

“Because he didn’t want to.” Phil Coulson cut in from his corner of the room, looking at them over his steepled fingers. “Because he didn’t want to prevent some people from being born. Like Wilson. Or Prince T’Challa’s younger sister, who you say he was friends with, or the Spider-Man who sounded really, really young, or…”

He trailed off, but everyone knew was thinking it.

If James Barnes had contacted Howard Stark at just the right [ _ ~~wrong~~_ ] moment, Tony Stark would have never been born and this timeline would've even been more of a mess than it already was.

As it was, they were struggling to keep track of the changes, working hard to make sure that all the changes were for the better, so that things wouldn't end in tears [ _like last time_ ]. But it wasn't easy.

Not by a long shot.

"So we're giving him the benefit of the doubt?"

"Among other things, yes."

Back to the beginning.

On Midgard, Loki was never in any given place for more than a handful of days.

First out of curiosity; then, because Thor's quaint little friends kept making nuisances of themselves and he preferred to not make a scene.

"We saw what you did to the Dark Elves." Their Spider said conversationally as he sipped his coffee in...the locals called it Delhi, now. Funny, how things changed when he wasn't paying attention.

Ah, speaking of not paying attention—

"It was nothing." He demurred. "It would have been handled regardless."

"You used the Tesseract."

"It was shockingly cooperative." He replied after draining his cup, and started searching for a suitable receptacle to discard it in.

"We knew you and Thor had a plan, but you shouldn't have, we had it under control—"

"Like your Man of Iron?" He asked pleasantly, a vicious edge in his smile and magic ready for whatever trap she was trying to lure him into.

The Spider, this 'Natasha Romanov', was his second-favorite of Thor's friends— but that merely meant he found her tolerable.

Far more than their archer, or their illustrious Captain, granted; but that in no way meant he particularly enjoyed her company. [ _Not like— no, not worth it._ ]

"You expect me to trust your people with my mother's life, when you couldn't even care for one of your own?" He continued with a scoff, and didn't bother biting back the tendril of vindication when she tensed minutely.

"What happened to Tony was a tragedy, we all expected him to come back from Afghanistan, _it wasn't our fault._ " She sounded genuine. Her grief and acceptance, too.

Loki wondered how often she'd said that lie, to believe it herself.

"What is it you are proposing?"

"Join us. We need everyone we can get when it comes to this, and Thor's out so often and—"

Loki started laughing.

"Oh, no. I know your kind."

'It wasn't our fault', just like 'wherever you go there is war, ruin, and death'— absolving themselves of the blame, of the consequences of decisions made. He was **_sick_** of these lies, after a lifetime of hearing them. If the Man of Iron had been treated even a fraction of the way Loki had...

"All you want is the Tesseract and a willing tool. I'm sorry, but I will provide neither." With that, he tossed his empty cup into a nearby disposal unit, and stalked away, mood now completely soured and pulling on his illusions to melt into the shadows.

#### 2016:

Loki was...not the most sociable of people, he was willing to admit.

_Especially_ when it came to idiots who ran around with the bare bones of a plan and got others killed needlessly, even if they were also literally the only others in existence working to stop the fast-incoming threat.

...however, that did not mean he was completely heartless: loathe as he was to admit it, Loki had a soft spot for children.

So when New York gained a 'Spider-Man' [ _who had no relation to Thor's ally, despite sharing the same coat of arms_ ], Loki found himself intrigued.

Even more so, when a quick conversation in private led to the discovery that this young Spider, this 'Peter Parker', was currently struggling with reconciling the differences between two worlds.

That this Spider had been struggling ever since he'd come into his power, for in another life, the Man of Iron had been his mentor.

And in this one, he was adrift in a world he did not fully recognize, and the only adult he trusted with this knowledge was long dead.

Suffice it is to say, Loki took the young Spider under his wing. Especially when he found the child shared the Man of Iron's lack of self-preservation in favor of snark, and that is _also_ the story of why Spider-Man's suit was spelled to be impervious to small projectiles and inscribed with runes to make it as fire-resistant as he could manage.

Their alliance was a strange one, granted— especially at first, when the young Spider was wary of him, for he remembered a New York devastated by Chitauri— but by and by, started warming up to him.

It helped that Loki was more than willing to serve as a distraction from the others.

For Thor's friends had also realized the young Spider was a fellow traveler, and endeavored to make contact with him.

Peter, however, did not reciprocate— and because of it, Loki acted as a bulwark whenever they tried to disrespect his wishes.

More than once, the young Spider had laughed when the Captain returned to his team with neon-colored hair, or the archer sneezing iridescent bubbles. Personally, Loki was more proud of the small bird that had perched on the one-eyed man's coat for a week, but he did not begrudge him for it.

And all the while, time marched onwards.

If anyone had told Peter Parker he'd be regularly patrolling with _Loki_ two years ago, he would have flipped out.

Then again, this entire timeline was so damn weird, Loki regularly shoving granola bars and bottles of water at him and dodging Captain America whenever he went out as Spider-Man because—

_and_ just like that, Peter wasn't okay all over again.

But he couldn't help it! Because here, Peter’s mentor is dead, his hero didn’t _exist_ and wasn’t around to save the day and Peter didn’t trust that team to do so after—well.

[ _They hadn't done anything to help last time._ ]

He'd shared some of what he'd seen last time with Loki, who'd gotten a scary look for a moment before he'd smiled brightly and said he'd take care of it.

Knowing Loki now, Peter suspected that meant even more pranks on the Avengers. The Peter from five years ago would have been aghast; now, however, he was silently cheering him on.

…then, one day after he’s winding down from patrol and meeting up with Loki to catch up on how things were going, a portal opens. Loki goes from relaxed to battle-ready in a second, shoving Peter behind him with one hand while the other’s already sparking green, when they see a familiar face.

“Dr. Strange?”

The man looks tired, but smiles when he sees them. Or, rather, sees Peter, at least—he gives Loki a wary look, right up until Peter shoves down his arm while muttering about how he’s a friendly.

“Peter? There’s someone who I think you’ll want to meet. Can I take you to him?” He asks.

“He won’t—” Loki starts, already starting to tense again, only for Peter to wave him off with a faint frown because his spider-sense isn’t tingling but he can feel _something,_ and…he didn’t get to know Dr. Strange very well in their original timeline, had mostly known him through Tony, back when they’d been trying to save the world and…it may be nothing.

May just be a coincidence, but…

“Who is it?”

Dr. Strange smiled again, as he answered. “You wouldn’t believe me if I said.”

#### 1992:

Here’s the thing: at the end of the day, some people don’t get along. Just too similar, some personalities clash and either get along like a house on fire or fight relentlessly. Tony and Howard Stark were two such people: both brilliant and passionate about their interests, both trying to make a difference in the world, both fiercely protective of the people they deem family.

[ _ ~~Ha. Family.~~_ ]

Sometimes, eventually, people might bend, might learn to work around it. Might be able to work together, if push comes to shove. Might learn to put aside their differences, if only for a little while, in order to achieve a common goal.

[ _Sometimes._ ]

Especially if the alternative is getting pushed to their breaking point.

In another world, Tony Stark might have been such a man, and become a master of passive aggression. Might have learned to grit his teeth and worked around Howard’s constant threats of disinheriting him, might have been pushed to greater and greater heights as a Merchant of Death to reaffirm to the world that he was more than just his father’s son.

In this one, however, Tony took just a bit too much after his mother: he didn’t break, when put under extreme pressure.

No, instead, he _**snapped.**_

In no universe does Tony Stark have a completely healthy and functional relationship with his family— there’s just too many promises broken, taut silences where there should have been laughter, the shadow of a dead man cast too far for a young boy to escape.

But.

Once upon a time, Tony had been _**happy.**_ Had grown up with unconditional love and support, flourished as he was raised by two of the most influential people in his life and internalized their values as his own.

There’s just one problem— Howard Stark was not one of them.

[ _…well, a problem for Howard at least: the rest of the world had absolutely no complaints._ ]

Here’s the thing: Tony Stark was raised by Maria Stark neé Carbonell, and Edwin Jarvis. Maria, who taught him how to work the cameras, how to play the game, how to raise _**hell**_ if push ever came to shove and to never give an inch because the world would take and _take and **take—**_

And Jarvis, who taught him control, taught him mercy, was the gentle smiles to his mother’s vicious defense of their family. Was the one who taught him of the difference between ignorance and malice, was the one who kept them both grounded, was a constant reminder that the world wasn’t as cruel a place as it sometimes looked.

This is important, because Howard Stark brought the war with him wherever he went.

In this particular case, he launched the opening volley of a cold war between him and his son when he nearly killed his wife with his drunk driving, one rainy night in 1991.

Now, in another life, Tony might have bent when Howard levied his expectations on him as an adult. Might have kept the greater good in mind, might have considered who else might have stood to benefit and focused on thwarting them even as he struggled to maintain afloat. If he had, he would have worn himself thin while keeping everything together and would have resulted in a vaguely recognizable universe for those who remembered a different history.

In this timeline, however, Tony wiped his face after his mother’s most recent diagnosis, and said _no._

Said no to Howard’s impossible standards, said no to the weapons-making, and turns his back and walks away with his head held high.

[ _Never give an inch. Just like his mom always said._ ]

Tony Stark walks away and leaves everything Howard might have offered without so much as a backwards glance. He doesn’t care about the money, about the empire he could have inherited— he cares about how he’d feel having to look at the man responsible for his mother’s condition in the face for the rest of his life.

When it goes out, the announcement rocks the corporate sector to its foundations.

That’s not even the worst part, though: to add insult to injury, Tony walks away with everything he had to his name, turns around, and promptly starts up a company of his own. No relation to Stark Industries, just technology and AI and whatever it is his mind leads him to and fully aware of just how _furious_ Howard is at what he considers the waste of potential.

Part of Tony gets it, thanks to Jarvis. Gets _why_ Howard is so insistent, can almost understand his father's clinging to what is quickly being dismissed as a relic of a bygone age. But it’s not enough to make him stay.

So he pastes on a smile whenever he's in public, and when he's not, calls up Richards to argue about his latest paper as he works on a clumsy AI who can't lie a damn and tries not to wonder what his mom would be thinking if she could see him now. Of the way Stark Solutions is booming, and quietly but unrepentantly becoming a major sponsor of groups fighting for mutant and LGBTQ rights [ _because he'd grown up hearing Howard talking shit about 'those freaks', and nothing filled him with more glee than picturing his **very** conservative father's face when he came out as bi in 1997_].

Tony'd like to think she'd be proud of him, considering everything. Sure, he was a mover and shaker whose main motivation was sheer spite, but if she ever woke up [ _"it was a miracle we were able to stabilize her, the odds after the first month—" **no,** don't think about it_]...if nothing else, he was confident his mom would be proud of his resolve.

_...and_ then he gets kidnapped at a conference and Victor Von Doom causes a minor diplomatic incident searching for him because he considered him "a worthy rival when Reed was busy" [ _truly flattering stuff, really. Thanks for nothing_ ]— even as Iron Man took flight from the burned-out remains of what had once been an AIM bunker.

Sure, things got hectic, but Tony had a handle on it.

Also? For the record, he beat Richards to the 'running around saving the world' thing.

When he got an offer to consult for SHIELD, Tony frowned at it for a moment, before shrugging and putting it in in the 'maybe' pile. 

Tony had a...unique childhood, even before things hit the fan.

His mom came back with an amnesiac badass with built-in _knives_ that crashed on their couch one day and then, just like the cat Tony'd taken to feeding when they were in Amsterdam for a few months, proceeded to just...wander in and out of their lives from there on out.

Notes: **heavy** emphasis on worldbuilding, character development/differentiation—this universe is a migraine for anyone who only knows the MCU because the Red Room's also running around [crashes and burns right with the fall of the Soviet Union], tech's all over the place because AIM's been running around for decades and HYDRA is somehow still around and kicking despite having literally everyone hating their guts— which is actually pretty impressive, considering Magneto doesn't usually agree with SHIELD on _anything,_ but turns out that punching Nazis is something everyone else can get behind. Society's also a huge mess, because mutants throw a huge wrench into things and there's multiple conversations being forced to happen at the same time because iirc the mutant thing was allegorical for disability and civil rights, as well as anything remotely LGBTQ and I don't know how a universe where Malcolm X and Magneto could have conceivably been able to talk would look like but this is basically it. Internationally there's even more chaos going on, because just going from what I remember of the movies there's a lot going on and while this is all happening, Maria Stark is a budding Moriarty building her network and running from SHIELD and everyone and anyone else Howard [or Obadiah Stane, but shh] keeps sending after her.

Notes the second, and narrowing in on this particular plot line: Tony grows up on the road with Logan [yes, _that_ Logan, 'Wolverine' Logan] as a bit of an uncle figure.

Pro: Logan's the 'gruff but keeps adopting all these gremlins and would Fight You if you look at them wrong' type. Also, benefit from this is that Logan gets a few more hints towards wtf is up with his past as time goes on. Everyone gets very very confused for obvious reasons [there's records of some Howlett guy fighting in Vietnam??? But also pics that look like him from like 100 years ago???]

Cue timeskip, and everyone starts going their separate ways but keep in touch. Tony goes "I'm an adult now, I'm fine" to his mom, and like 5 minutes later gets kidnapped by AIM. [AIM plotline, go! onto the next installment]

"Are you f— _why are you like this._ "

The Ancient One, Wong, and Mordo were all very surprised when Stephen had bolted out after his fight. While they’d anticipated the regular jitters novices had after their first encounter with death, he’d seemed far more distraught than that— but in a very different way.

Not only that, but he’d left via a perfectly-formed portal.

Something strange was afoot. His reaction alone had been very odd, when he’d seen them; he’d blanched, then looked around as if seeing everything for the first time, and then— he’d left.

He’d left, and they didn’t even know _where._

What had he gotten himself into?

“Sorry, I just need to check on something. Be right back,” he called before they could even reach him, and then the man who had been struggling with magic in combat not the day before had confidently thrown himself into the portal he’d made with an absent gesture.

“What books did he get his hands on?” Mordo asked warily, and Wong just shook his head.

“Not the ones that would’ve resulted in _that._ ”

“He hid his path,” said the Ancient One, and they both jerked their heads sharply towards her.

“You mean—”

“He hid his path as easily as Kaecilius did, and I…there’s time magic involved.”

“But the Eye—” Even as he spoke, however, Mordo felt it, as _something_ pulsed three times, and then yet another portal opened…only for its source location to shift across space and time in a way a master would have been loath to attempt.

“Stephen has a lot to answer for.” The Ancient One said with a slight frown, and Mordo readied himself as a very wild-eyed Stephen threw himself through before it closed behind him, clutching at a—was that _Tony Stark?_

“What have you done?” Wong exclaimed even as he moved to help with the man currently partway through a panic attack.

Mordo moved to help as well, but his attention was caught by the familiar gleam of something gold around Strange’s neck. But wait, that couldn’t be right—

“You have the Eye,” the Ancient One said with a raised eyebrow, even as she too moved to approach them. “The Eye that we personally ensured was secured during the Zealots’ attack. Stephen, what have you been up to?”

The man in question didn’t answer immediately, more focused on checking over the man under his care with all the speed and efficiency that reminded them all of his past as a doctor. Once he was sure the stranger— Tony Stark? But _how?_ — was relatively unharmed, only then did he draw himself up, and look them in the eye evenly.

In doing so, the Eye of Agamotto was put into full display, gleaming almost tauntingly as his shoulders squared and his cloak settled itself.

In that moment, Stephen Strange didn’t look like a novice newly-inducted into magic, didn’t look like a man who’d just had to fight for his life for the first time. No, instead, he met them all with the ease and grace of a seasoned Master of the Mystic Arts, and an enigmatic smile.

“That is…a long story, my friends. One best told over a long drink.”

#### 1996:

Tony hadn't set out to take over the organization that kidnapped him, but that's what ended up happening anyway.

Because of course it was.

"You can stop laughing anytime now, man. Anytime." Tony groused over the receiver, but to no avail: the tell-tale crash told him Logan'd knocked over the ugly vase by the phone in between his guffaws.

"Only you, kid. I don't know how, I don't know why, but _only you_ could, it's fucking genetics at work here I—"

Tony made a face, but...he couldn't even deny it.

"In my defense, it comes from both sides of the family." Howard founded SHIELD, aka the super-sketchy government agency that regularly dealt with aliens and mutants; meanwhile, his mom had singlehandedly created a criminal empire that put Bond villains to shame.

With that in mind, taking over AIM was nothing special. Really.

_"Really."_ Tony repeated, but to no avail, as Logan continued to laugh at him for the next five minutes.

Back to the beginning.

"Pleasure doing business with you." Natalie Rushman smiled at Susan Storm as she shook her hand.

Five minutes later, Natasha Romanov slumped against Clint with a muttered curse.

"I take back everything I ever said about Tony being a pain in the ass."

Phil Coulson gave a sympathetic wince from the driver's seat.

"That bad?"

She gave him a tired look. "Tony Stark could get annoying, but at least you could count on him to pull through when the chips were down. Reed Richards is a mess of hyperefixations that means he _could_ be working on a weather control ray—"

"Isn't that against the Geneva Conventions?" Clint asked with a faint frown.

She glared. "It _is._ But he's as liable to work on that as he is to try and find a practical application for string theory, and he created an entirely new line of polymers while in an argument with Tony. _I can't even._ "

"What's your assessment?"

Natasha scrubbed a hand over her face. "From what I saw? Egoistic. Brilliant like Tony, but with ten times the self-preservation instinct and way, _way_ less altruistic. Doesn't play well with others outside of the 'Fantastic Four', there's a reason Susan Storm's the team leader."

"So, a pain in the ass, basically."

"Basically," Natasha nodded in agreement. "But it's not like we've got a lot of options here."

And damn if that wasn't weighing heavily on everyone.

Hank Pym had nearly laughed them out of his office when he'd gotten wind that SHIELD was asking around for consultants; his wife had looked similarly amused but given them a business card with a 'for emergencies only' scrawled on it.

But who else were they supposed to ask? Princess Shuri wasn't even born yet, this Tony Stark was very much a chip off the old block and a hot mess to boot— and the other genii were unknowns they were still figuring out.

Sadly enough, Reed Richards was shaping up to be their best bet. Especially compared to everyone else on the list: Victor Von Doom had a lot of potential, but he was also very much a wily bastard and last thing anyone needed was to risk pissing off the future leader of a foreign power who made full use of his diplomatic immunity at every turn. Conversely, Dr. Charles Xavier had been very polite during their meeting, but had also emphasized that his school for 'gifted youngsters' took priority and thus might not answer if they needed help. Meanwhile, nobody was inclined to reach out to Howard Stark for help, not when the shameless war hawk made no bones about how he'd do things.

Worst of all, though, was the whole situation with Tony Stark.

Phil Coulson had nearly ruined any chances they'd had of future encounters with the man, and it'd taken a lot of very fast talking to convince him to maybe consider answering if SHIELD ever came to call. Which had made for a very grim reminder that this wasn't the world they remembered, and it was only now that they realized just how lucky they'd been last time, when they'd had one of the most powerful people on the planet in their corner.

They hadn't quite realized just how much he had contributed at the time, but now? They sorely missed their Tony, whose goals could be boiled down to 'wanting to make the world a better place', who had been willing to rain hell on their behalf and had always been willing to play ball when they'd needed him.

Sure, he'd been annoying at times. Had been flashy, always had some smart-alec remark ready— but it was a sight better than Reed Richard's unintentional but incredibly irritating condescension, than the unease Clint and Natasha had felt when having tea with the most powerful telepath in the country [if not the world], and leagues beyond the amount of self-control needed to spend more than five minutes in the same room as Howard Stark and not punch him in the face.

Fortunately, however, they weren't alone in this mess.

Agent Clint Barton frowned down thoughtfully at the files before him.

"I don't get it."

"We'd previously categorized Janus Enterprises as part of the temporal shift, but are currently reassessing it in light of recent events." Deputy Director Hill replied, raising an eyebrow. "What else is there to 'get'?"

"What's the big deal with—" He gesture vaguely, and Natasha rolled her eyes.

"Did you sleep through the last briefing?"

"Hey! I'd _just_ come off the tail end of a security detail shift, what'd you expect?"

"For you to pay attention." Deputy Director Hill glared, then pinched the bridge of her nose. "Nobody appreciates just how much paperwork's involved in saving the world, I _swear..._ "

Natasha elbowed Clint, then took pity on Hill. "This isn't the world we remember, Tony Stark went MIA in the '80s and we've been trying to play catch-up in the time since. Janus Enterprises was considered to be a non-entity in relation to the main mission since it came to our awareness because let's be honest, there's a lot of stuff that's different from _then,_ this was considered small fries."

She turned to give Hill a questioning look. "Why the reassessment?"

"What do you remember of Ivan Vanko?"

Natasha very carefully didn't tense, even as she replied, "I remember him as the son of a former associate of Howard Stark, he clashed with Tony during the palladium poisoning mess. Why."

"Because he's their CEO, and the man credited with the invention of the miniaturized arc reactor."

Clint blinked, while Director Fury summed up their situation with his characteristic brand of candor.

"Well, shit."

Tellingly, no one objected.

Somehow, however, that wasn't even the worst news.

The first time Iron Man ran into the Avengers, it was an accident.

No, really: he'd been following a potential lead on one of Kilian's connections [ _cough, **suppliers,** cough_] which meant his reasons for skulking around an abandoned base after dark in the middle of nowhere weren't anything out of the ordinary. Just poking around and seeing what the heck Grey had been involved in, because apparently he was a busy man who only moonlighted as one of Kilian's henchmen, so, really, Iron Man's interest was _completely legitimate._

As compared to the boy band in spandex who'd barged in and immediately started blowing shit up.

Tony was not impressed by whoever it was that was responsible for the rumble above him, or the multiple voices chattering over a communications system that'd been laughably easy to hack. Really, the only saving grace of their little shindig was the agent who'd had enough sense to poke through what was left of the archives before working on bringing the base down around them. Black Widow, according to the comms, which only made the entire situation that much more ridiculous.

"Iron Man, I presume."

"Fancy meeting you here," Tony called over his shoulder, not looking away from his work even as part of him noted the silence that stole over the comms. Interesting.

If not for JARVIS, he wouldn't have noticed when she approached him— partly because whoever'd left this notebook had terrible handwriting, but mostly because of just how damn quiet she was. Goddamn ninjas.

"What're you doing here?" She asked with a curious tilt to her head as she looked between him and the remains of the archives. Her voice was unusually soft, as if she actually cared— and when Tony stole a glance, he saw genuine concern on her face for a moment.

And if he hadn't already gotten an inkling from 'Hawkeye' about just who these guys were with, the SHIELD logo on her suit erased all doubt. Tony tilted his head for a moment as the ground trembled _yet again_ as he made up his mind and put the tattered notebook back where he'd found it.

"Nothing, I was just leaving." Never let it be said Iron Man was anything less than polite.

"Iron Man, wait—"

"Obviously this is an ongoing operation, I would _hate_ to intrude." He said even as he sidestepped away, putting as much distance as possible between them as he all-but-sprinted to the door. "My apologies."

With that, he blasted off and started to fly away from whatever the hell was going on, dodging the debris and trying to avoid getting caught up in...whatever the hell this was.

He'd almost made it out clear when an enormous green blur _yanked him out of the sky._

"What the—" Tony managed to get out, even as the blur resolved into a giant of a man who...was hugging him like a teddy bear?

What the fuck?

As if to mock him, the comms he was still overhearing weren't much better.

"Shit, anyone got eyes on the Hulk?"

"—thought he had a handle on this, why did he even—"

"Thor, can you—"

...how was it possible that things could go so sideways in less than five minutes?

Also: Norse gods as codenames? Really?

Screw it, no time for subtlety, he was currently trapped by a bear hug by something that probably could crush his armor with their bare hands and looked to be about half a minute from breaking down in tears. This was extremely uncomfortable on a number of levels.

"Will _someone_ come over and call Jolly Green here off?" Tony snapped, thankful his voice modifier did an excellent job at hiding his nerves as it made him sound more irritated than anything else.

The hush that stole over the comms was oddly satisfying.

Finally, though, a voice he recognized broke the silence.

"Iron Man, what is your location?" Agent barked, and Tony scoffed.

"Surface level. I was _trying_ to leave you guys to your op when someone decided to say hi."

"Cap, you're the one closest in range. Thor, Widow—"

"On my way." Widow spoke, sounding far more professional than their first encounter. "Archives cleared, nothing new here. Sit tight, I'll be there in five."

"Iron Man," Agent spoke again, "we'll need to debrief, this is a—"

"Agent, what you guys are up to is none of my business, I was just following up on a lead that didn't pan out. Also? You guys need to secure your comms, you're practically broadcasting here."

Tony's panic was receding with every second that passed and he wasn't dying a painful death. Obviously, this 'Hulk' guy wasn't so bad, even if he was sniffling a little now.

Much better than the Captain America impersonator, anyway.

Both Tony Stark and Iron Man had been requested for consultations on numerous occasions. On one or both sides of the mask, he'd worked alongside local law enforcement, the X-Men, the Fantastic Four [ _...even if he'd been gritting his teeth the entire time because **Von Doom** was more bearable than Richards when he got going_], and was practically on a first-name basis with several diplomats and Congressmen.

Point is, being asked for help was nothing new, working with random groups of people was old hat at this point.

...however, being handed a file of paperwork by a dangerously-bland-looking agent type in a shadowed car park?

Yeah, that was one for the books. _Magneto's_ people weren't as dramatic, for crying out loud!

Behind his mask, Tony frowned. "If you're giving this to me to hand off to my boss..."

"Oh, no, I was trying to ask you." Agent replied. "My supervisors wanted me to take this directly to Stark, but..."

Yeah, Tony'd been very careful in cultivating his reputation as contrary bastard. _Iron Man_ was the one people went to if they ever needed help.

Tony's voice modifier made his snort sound like garbled static, but Agent smiled regardless. "Yeah, that wouldn't have flown, he _hates_ SHIELD. Nothing personal, agent, but his old man's still involved enough that he'd reject it out of hand."

"This is something pretty urgent." Agent sounded dismayed.

Dismayed enough that Tony's knee-jerk reaction kicked in, despite not knowing the guy. "Anything I can help with?"

Agent inclined his head. "You wouldn't happen to have some knowledge of thermonuclear astrophysics, would you?"

"No, but Stark's worked enough with green energy for me to know the basics." It wasn't even a lie.

"If you can make it, we'd love to have you on board." Agent said, clear relief on his face.

"Oh, sure. my hours can be weird, but here's my number— I'll see what I can do." Tony said as he pulled out one of ~~his~~ _Iron Man's_ business cards, passing it over in exchange for the files. "Leave Stark up to me, this is going to be a hard enough sell if your people _aren't_ being pushy about it."

The relieved sigh Agent let out was more than enough for Tony to make his decision. Even if his schedule was now three different types of royally screwed, he never regretting being able to help people.

...in retrospect, he should've known something was up when he ran into Captain America.

Between the giant green guy who was currently treating him like his favorite teddy bear, and the Captain America wannabe, Tony'd choose Jolly Green any day.

Sure, both looked like they wanted to cry whenever they looked at him, but at least Jolly Green didn't come with a childhood's worth of emotional baggage courtesy of daddy issues, so.

Tony crossed his arms and pointedly looked away when the asshole in stars and stripes started approaching him.

"Iron Man."

"Captain, I presume." It was hard to look dignified right now, but Tony liked to think he pulled it off regardless.

"Hulk, let him down."

"No!"

...this was going to be a long night, wasn't it.

It took the Black Widow to convince the Hulk to put Tony down. If she hadn't already been his favorite person in this mess, then that would've cinched it.

"We need to debrief," Agent said, again, as Tony slumped against the rubble of what had once been an abandoned base and did a systems check.

His sigh came out as garbled static, before he stiffened.

"Not necessary. This was as much a dead end for me as it is for you guys, I imagine."

"What—"

"Corporate espionage thing that's part of an ongoing investigation, that's all I can legally say right now. If you have any further questions, Agent, feel free to ask my boss. I hear last time didn't pan out. I'd apologize, but then, Stark Junior's always been a piece of work, so." He shrugged. "Good luck."

Back to the beginning.

"What do you _**mean** Obadiah Stane is the CFO of Stark Industries._" Deputy Director Hill's voice was dangerously flat.

Phil Coulson raised a hand to rub at his temples. "I mean exactly what I said—"

"No, I mean, how the _hell_ did we miss this?!"

"What does it matter?" Steve Rogers asked, only for Natasha to snort even as the files Deputy Director Hill was holding crumpled in her hands.

"Didn't you read the briefings?" Natasha asked, and sighed as she got her answer with his frown.

"What does it matter? We know he's dirty, we just need to tell Howard—"

Fury's scoff cut off whatever else he had to say. "We are _not_ bringing Howard Stark in for anything less than as an absolute last resort. Not even then, if I had it my way."

"What—"

"In our time, Obadiah Stane was a wily enough bastard that it took putting a hit out on Tony to do him in, and even that was a one-in-a-billion chance because anyone else wouldn't have come back from Afghanistan. This Stane? He's flown under Howard's radar for decades. We need to deal with him, but we're going to have to be smart about it and that means _no_ charging in to tell him the man he's known for almost half his life is double-dealing."

"But that's not the only thing we need." Hill cut in. "We also need to get our hands on the Tesseract, and track down Tony if we want to stand a chance against what's coming, and for that..."

"We need to figure out just what went wrong."

]

"Okay, from the start. What do we know about Janus Enterprises?"

As it turned out, asking around raised more questions than answers.

Some very, very interesting questions, that.

Director Fury rubbed his temples from his seat, and looked up at his fellow time travelers.

"Anyone want to explain just why I got a visit from the Department of Justice to back off of Vanko?"

Steve Rogers startled. He wasn't the only one, just the one to jolt the table enough to net him a dirty look from Maria Hill as she scrambled to keep her notes from falling.

"I'm sorry, _what?_ "

"I said what I said." Fury smiled thinly. "Looks like our guy has some friends in high places. So. Who fucked up and tipped our guy off?"

Natasha frowned. "My contacts are very discreet, it's not likely we'd get a leak from there..."

"Don't look at me," Maria Hill said with a raised eyebrow as she held up the folder in her hands, "I've been busy tracking down the divergences between our timelines. Which, by the way, isn't as much as you'd think it is, which is suspicious in and of itself but that's something for later."

Clint Barton stared back at everyone as they looked towards him. "I've been keeping eyes on Stane, this is the first I'm hearing this."

And with that, all eyes turned to Phil Coulson, who flushed under everyone's scrutiny. "It was _one comment_ in passing, I don't see—"

Maria Hill put down her paperwork, and the look she pinned him with had Steve tensing because damn if she didn't look like she was half a second from lunging across the table. "I have yet to pin down the particulars of whatever deal Vanko made to get where he is now, but how did you _not_ think he'd be basically untouchable?"

"I—"

"He's the media's darling right now, Coulson. I don't need to tell you how much Howard's fallen since he showed up, or the rivalry between Janus Enterprises and Stark Industries, or even that you're currently using a phone that has technology several decades ahead of schedule and damn it—" She let out a sharp breath, then closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose.

Back to the beginning.

#### 2016:

Dr. Stephen Strange had still been reeling from his discovery that he'd killed a man [ _had violated one of his sworn oaths as a doctor, one of the core tenets of his identity—_ ] when the migraine struck and memories of a future that would never be clashed with his reality.

It was...not a good experience.

Made even worse by the realization that something had gone terribly wrong in their timeline, so wrong that he could tell the Time Stone had been forced to correct for it but _how—_

Oh.

Oh, _no._

It couldn't be.

Something had gone terribly wrong.

Stephen staggered to his feet, forcing himself to ignore the way his ribs throbbed and the exhaustion that came on the heels of the adrenaline rush because he had to confirm what his memories were telling him, had to _**make sure—**_

Because his memories _had_ to be wrong, there's no way Tony Stark could have died in 2008, not when the man he'd come to respect had survived so much and had continued fighting to the bitter end—

He saw the Ancient One, and Mordo, but he couldn't afford to stay and chat, not when the future of this universe depended on it, because Tony had never quite realized just how much of an effect he had on the people around him and Stephen had never told him of just how important his role was when it came to fighting what was to come and—

Stephen reflexively ducked through a portal to check.

What happened afterwards, well...

In his defense, Stephen hadn't known Wong hadn't been joking when he'd said the Time Stone seemed to like him. Had thought Wong was trying to make him feel better, after Mordo's death and the loss of another Sanctum.

This was a completely different timeline, the Eye of Agamotto had been safely hidden away during Kaecilius' attack and thus should not have been able to do anything without a wielder.

By all rights, it should have been impossible to create a portal capable of interfering with the space-time continuum without an incredible amount of focus _and_ the use of a powerful artifact. Especially when the creator of said portal was in an incredibly volatile emotional state.

Emphasis on 'should'.

As such, Stephen was completely unprepared when his portal opened up not to the New York Sanctum, but a firefight in middle of a desert.

He's confused, and completely lost— and then he sees Tony crouched by a Humvee, just as a bomb landed not ten feet away.

Sees Tony’s face—fear shifting to shock shifting to _remembering_ shifting to despair—realizes what’s about to happen, and grabs Tony and hurls them both through the portal before the bomb can go off.

From there, it's muscle memory to get to a safe place and check on Tony, and he doesn't even notice the familiar weight of the Eye until the Ancient One mentions it and he knows there's so many questions they have but it's _worth it._

Because here, Wong's unburdened and the Ancient One and Mordo are both alive and well, the New York Sanctum is still standing and he'll gladly answer any questions they have because this time, he knows what's coming.

Back to the beginning.


End file.
